#but really any superior content is welcome now hes been gone too long

[bloodonmysqueegee]

I'M GOING MENTAL

I'M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW

Us spidey fans are getting spoiled fr

[just-a-creep-babe]

Captive

(Habit x Reader)

Commissioned by @selfshippinglover thank youuu bby <333

Requests are closed

Masterlist: x

Habit wipes the blade of his hatchet on his pants, smearing blotchy crimson on his washed-out jeans

He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck

Finally home

A grin replaces the sneer on his face as he thinks of his little rabbit waiting for him inside

The thought of seeing your face light up as you rush into his arms is more than enough to coax his sore muscles forwards

He hasn’t been gone for too long, but he knows you‘re always elated to see him—and it goes without saying that the feeling is always mutual, of course

The few steps leading up to the door are speckled with brownish dried blood, almost welcoming him in as he twists the doorknob and steps through the threshold

“I’m back, little rabbit~” he croons into the entrance

His voice is a hint scratchier than it usually is because of his recent… activities, but he knows you’ll be happy to hear the sound regardless

He sets his weapons down on the entrance floor and takes his shoes off as he awaits your reply

He previously never really cared for clean floors and would shamelessly track caked dirt and blood into the house just because he was too lazy to remove his shoes

But after you’d admonished him for giving you even more cleaning to do, he’d been more careful with keeping things somewhat tidy

And, at this point, after living with you for so long, it’s become a sort of habit on its own 

He pauses for a moment as he finishes wiping the filthy dried crimson on his arms with the towel you keep for him by the coat rack

Why didn’t you come to greet him? Did you not hear him come in?

He grunts

He thought he’d taught you better than that

You had to pay attention to your surroundings and stay on guard when he wasn’t there in case anything happened

“Bunny?” he calls out for you again, now making his way into the living room where you should be

But instead of being met with your adorable face, there’s… nothing—no one

His smile drops

Are you sleeping? Did you feel sick and needed to rest?

No, something’s not right—he knows it

He can feel it

His instincts flare up, alarm bells ringing in his mind as he pushes through the empty hallway

“Bunny? You in here? Don’t try to hide from me—“

He rushes to your room, the door slamming open to reveal yet another significant lack of you

The bed’s undone, sheets thrown haphazardly across the mattress, and the curtains are still drawn, like you didn’t have time to properly wake up this morning

His brows furrow

Trepidation spirals through his body, the fear and confusion of you not being there reawakening his overworked muscles like a pure shot of adrenaline

You know better than this

You know to stay put in the house until he comes back—it isn’t like you to just up and leave with no explanation, not even a warning or a note or anything of the sort

A note

He tries to calm himself down, tries to slow his frantic breaths and relax the tension in his jaw

He tells himself that maybe he’s just overreacting

He hasn’t checked the fridge or the counter for any indication of why you might’ve left

Maybe he’s forgetting something, and just needs to think things through before assuming the worst

But then, just as he’s about to turn back for the kitchen, he freezes in his tracks

A note is too optimistic, too hopeful

He has to face the facts; someone‘s taken you

His eyes close shut and he hones in on his superior senses

He sniffs the air once, twice, and a third time

There’s no mistaking the traces of something foul lingering behind

Cold dread licks up his spine

Fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders tense, white hot rage seething through his system at the realization

How could the fucker dare?

He breaths in the scent again, trying to picture its owner, trying to pick it apart from the familiarity of your smell to see what fucking idiot would take you away from him

What imbecile would steal his mate?

The intruding scent is a mix of smoldering charcoals, cinnamon, an expensive cologne and something... husky—definitely masculine

A malignant smile crosses his features as he pinpoints the exact asshole that took you

He lets out a low whistle to himself in the emptiness of the room

“Alright, you wanna play dirty, lapdog? I’ll fucking show you playing dirty”

•••

It doesn’t take long for him to wind up in the middle of the forest where the eldritch prick and most of his lackeys reside

The air is still and stagnant, the musk of rot permeating every direction

Fingers wrapped firmly around the wooden handle of his axe, he moves quietly but quickly—and with steeled purpose—through the withered trees

He knows that walking right into the center of Stick-in-the-Mud’s domain is dangerous

Not to mention that the whole situation reeks of it being a trap

But what other choice does he have?

For you, his one and only beloved mate, he would risk anything

Habit twists his weapon of choice in his hands, maneuvering it through his fingers in an impressive display of skill and control

Besides, he wants to make them pay—he wants to make them regret ever laying a finger on your pretty little head

His lust for revenge churning in the pit of his stomach overpowers any other competing sense

He could picture it in now; how the blade would cut through the entity’s skin like butter, spraying crimson in a beautiful fountain-like gush of his life-force pouring across the dirt

He knows, of course, that he can’t actually kill the bastard so easily, but still, it keeps him content as he weaves through the broken shambles of the path

He has to distract himself, anyways

He doesn’t want his rage to overtake his common-sense, or, at least, whatever’s left of it at this point

Eventually, he finally reaches a clearing where pale, faint traces of sunlight barely peak through the dense thicket of foliage overhead

You’re close, he can feel it

He pauses for a second, closing his eyes and trying to visualize which direction he should head in

Still keeping up with your scent, he lets it guide him between two rotting oak trees until, after a few more paces ahead, he reaches a dilapidated building standing all on its own

From the looks of it, he guesses it was once a hospital, though the windows and doors have long since been removed, and where they once were affixed now lie slits of darkness—the abyss inside peering out into the woods

White chips of paint peel from the exterior, with gnarled twisted vines creeping up the side like fingers caging the structure in place

He can smell your fear and distress from somewhere deep inside of it

The scent overtakes his instincts and he finds himself charging through the entrance without so much as a backup plan

God help whatever stands between him and his mate

The interior of the abandoned hospital still lingers with traces of blood and medicine, coupled with a couple of forgotten operating tables, wheelchairs and other surgical devices

He rushes through every room, every dead-end and vacant hallway—all of them lacking a crucial component; you

Finally, he stumbles across a heavy door reinforced with metal plating, and this time, there’s no mistaking your scent coming through the other side of it

He almost scoffs at the barrier

As if that would be enough to stop him from reaching you

He tugs at the handle and gives it a good pull with all his might, but it doesn’t budge

“Fucking piece of—“ he snarls a few curses under his breath, shifting positions so that he can bash it open with his shoulder

Whap! Smack!

Blow after blow, despite him using all his weight and straining his muscles as hard as he can, the door doesn’t give

He huffs, snarling in frustration

His sight lands on the rusted hinges where the door attaches to the wall

He tugs the axe from the loops in his jeans, twirls it in his hold and smashes it down against the latches

Clang!

The metal bends much more easily than it would’ve if it wasn’t rusted over

One strike after the next, he pictures the hinges as Stick-in-the-Mud’s face, and with only a couple of hits, he manages to tear them off completely

He sheathes his axe back into his jeans, and with one last blow of his shoulder against the door, it flies off into the next room over

The sound of it hitting the ceramic flooring resonates throughout the empty building

He steps over it, and as he walks into this new room, he knows he’s hit the jackpot

A dark silhouetted form is crouched over a figure chained to the floor by their wrists and ankles

A soft, flickering glow emanates from dozens of candles scattered across the room

Before Habit can lunge at the crouched fucker and tear his throat out, he stands up and straightens himself

Slowly, the figure turns, revealing themselves

Candlelight glints off his signature glasses

His expression, as usual, is cloaked in shadow and impossible to read, were it not for the sly smile curling at his lips

“Ah, Habit. I must say, I didn’t expect you so soon. What a shame, really, I was just getting to know your dearest (y/n)~”

He steps to the side—giving just barely enough space to reveal you, eyes wide with a smear of grime on your cheeks, but otherwise apparently unharmed

“H-habit, I—“

“Ah, ah, ah~” the entity cuts you off, playfully wagging his finger in your direction. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, little one. I’m sure you have much to say, but I think Habit and I have a lot more… pressing issues to discuss”

He wants to hurt the bastard more than anything else—for stealing you away, chaining you to the damn floor of all things, and now for talking down to you like you’re below him

He wants to kill him

Painfully

Brutally

But he knows he can’t just blindly charge at him

There’s no way in hell the Observer doesn’t have some kind of fail-safe, and he really doesn’t wanna risk having him teleport away with you

So he forces himself to bide his time and play nice... for now

“Fucking spit it out already,” he urges through gritted teeth

The shadow entity smirks, reveling in his opponent’s lack of control

“It’s about Firebrand,” he begins, “though I’m sure you’re already more than aware of the little situation you’ve put him through”

The Observer absent-mindedly strokes your hair, toying with a strand between his fingers much too comfortably

It has Habit seething from where he’s standing

If looks could kill

"The Operator is none too pleased with your meddling,” he continues, and when you shift, trying to retreat from him touch, he lets your hair fall back down before returning his gaze to the infuriated male in front of him

“He demands a trade,” he finally finishes

Habit folds his arms over his chest, muscles nearly bulging as he tries to keep it together

“What’s done with Firebrand is done—it’s over. Trying to meddle with shit by stealing my fucking mate isn’t gonna fix your unfortunate situation” 

Despite his mind-numbing infuriation, Habit can’t help the faint smile as he thinks about how desperate Stick-in-the-Mud must be to resort to this

“It won’t,” the Observer agrees, “but you found a way to get leverage over us, and now, we have leverage over you. I’m sure we can find some way to balance this predicament we’re in, wouldn’t you agree?”

The candles to the left of the room flicker, then dim out, leaving half of the room completely drenched in shadows

From the corner of his eyes, he catches something moving next to you in the darkness, followed by your startled cry

He jerks forwards, hands reaching for his weapon, but then he stops short as the entity tuts, and your panicked gasps turn into muffled whimpers

He can just barely make out the shape of a tentacle as it curls around your mouth, your eyes looking up at him, big and watery and pleading and dear God, it’s damn near impossible to resist smashing the lapdog’s face in and saving you from that freak

“I don’t have the fucking journal,” his voice splits as he snarls the words out, a special kind of hatred and animosity seeping through at the sight of what he’s doing to you

Hell, just the scent of your fear is unbearable

The Observer smiles, and the tentacles stop moving, stop withering and tightening around your form, leaving you just enough air to breath

“Oh? Then where is it?”

"Fuck if I know”

“Hmm… that so?” dissatisfied with his answer, the tentacles start tightening around you once more

You whimper, crying out, trying to twist and turn as the growing darkness continues to consume you, slowly crushing your windpipes and suffocating your vulnerable form  

“Listen, I’ll bring it to you when I get it. Hand delivered by yours truly with a pretty pink fucking bow on it”

Empty promises tumble from his mouth—anything to make him stop, anything to make him release you

Your fear and panic is worse than any kind of torture

He needs it to stop

And, thankfully, it does

Your breathing goes from frantic gasps and whimpers to short breaths—still erratic but at least without the panicked edge of pain 

He can hear your heart beating like a drum in your chest and he wishes he could comfort you

He’d do anything it takes right now to have you unharmed—no matter the cost

The Observer, no doubt sensing Habit’s urgency, chuckles

He turns his attention back to you, this time tilting your chin up to break the eye contact between you and Habit

“There, see? I told you there was nothing to worry about, little one~”

He strokes your cheek, and you whimper in response, still twisting in his tentacles’ grasps

Without looking away from you, he addresses Habit

“You should watch out for your mate, you know. She’s such an easy little thing to pluck out. And how could you blame me for taking her—she’s such a compelling creature, isn’t she?~”

His smile, admittedly, dazzles you for a moment before you snap yourself out of it

You try to tug your head free but his hold on you is much too strong, so you have to look off to the side—anywhere but at his face

“I told you what you wanted. Now let. Her. Go.”

Habit’s tone is enough to bring shivers down your own spine, even knowing he’s on your side

But the entity, however, seems more or less phased by him

His gaze lingers on your face longer than you’d like, studying you, trying to perceive something within you

Then finally, he breaks the trance, glancing back towards Habit and releasing your face

“Your mate isn’t as impervious as you’d like. I suggest keeping that in mind if ever you get the urge to attempt any silly little tricks you might have”

With those final words, the remaining candles in the room flicker 

Shadows crawl up the entity’s form, then everything goes pitch dark for a moment

In that instance, Habit almost fears the worse

The few seconds it lasts stretch into what feels like an eternity

But then relief like no other surges through him when the candles slowly come back to life, and there, sitting against the far back of the room, is you

You’re still chained, but the tentacles have vanished and you share an equally relieved look in your eyes

He’s by your side in an instant

He scoops you up in his arms, holding you up to his strong, firm chest to cradle you and feel your warmth pressing against him

You wrap your arms around him, overwhelmed at everything that happened in such a short amount of time

Your heart beats frantically against his, and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt safer than you do right now in his arms

You let him hold you tightly for a while, until he finally manages to calm your hammering heart and your body relaxes in his hold

“Are you alright, little rabbit? Did he hurt you?”

He cups your jaw and tilts you face to look up at him, eyes filled with concern

You can tell he has more questions to ask, but for the moment, he holds back

“I’m fine,” you release a shaky breath, laughing nervously, “it’s ok, he didn’t do anything when you weren’t here. I’m alright”

He has to hold back a scowl at the idea of you being trapped with the entity—completely helpless to whatever he wants to do to you

“I’ll fucking rip his throat out if I ever see him again. Bastard’s gonna fucking pay”

You bring your hand up to place it over his chest, wanting to feel his heart beneath your touch

Your chains rattling against the ceramic flooring as you shift, and the sound is enough to snap his attention to them

He growls a few choice words under his breath, and then he’s hugging you closer still, like he wants to make sure you’re real and solid and well and alive

“You wanna head home, little rabbit?”

His tone is gentle and soothing

You nod, shutting your eyes and nuzzling deeply into his neck

There’s a shift in your center of gravity, one that’s barely noticeable, almost like you’re swinging up on a swing set, and then the air gets warmer and the harsh ceramic flooring is replaced with something soft beneath you

He strokes your head, murmuring quiet little nothings into your hair

“It’s alright, little rabbit. I won’t let that happen again. You’re all mine. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. You’re alright, baby. It’s ok, you’re alright…”

You let yourself be consumed by his embrace

His warmth, his scent, the pulse of his heart beneath his skin—you never want him to let you go

But your perfect moment is shattered by a sudden realization

You pull away, and his concern is immediately evident

“Wait… does that mean… did you trade the journal to get me back?”

He gives a wary smile

“You’re worried about some journal after everything you’ve been through?”

Your brows furrow, and you hesitate, chewing your lip

“Isn’t it important?”

Your voice is quiet and uncertain

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with that kind of stuff, bunny. There’s more than one journal. And I promised to give it if I ever got my hands on it. As long as someone else on my side gets it, it’ll be fine”

He playfully boops your nose, a mischievously wild grin on his face

“Stick-in-the-Mud’s lapdogs aren’t as clever as they like to think”

Your shoulders relax again, the guilt immediately melting away

“Oh, that’s good then,” you breathe out, give a small smile

“I love you, little rabbit. You know that, right?”

You nod, a content smile twitching at your lips

“I know. I love you too”

[ibijau]

Concubine nhs / on AO3

Hey! It’s been over a year! but I’ve updated this! Miracles do happen!

The letter arrives just a week after Nie Mingjue and the emperor’s visit (a visit so brief that both were long gone by the time everyone woke up, having foregone sleep and hurried toward the capital to organise the now inevitable war), and its contents are a surprise to everyone. Certainly, Nie Huaisang is the most shocked of all to be invited to the capital by a cousin of his father who currently holds a high office in the imperial administration. The surprise is greater still when, upon reading the letter, his father finds subtle hints that the request is not to be denied, as it is the emperor’s own desire.

It has to be Nie Mingjue’s doing, they both agree. Now that the war is there, he must have asked his childhood friend to ensure the safety of his bastard brother. Qinghe is far too close to the border after all, while Gusu is far away from the fight and as safe a place as can be. 

Father is not happy with this turn of event. He complains that Nie Huaisang was only starting to be useful to the house, that he had hoped to rely on him to organise supplies to the troops and to keep their house safe while Mingjue and him would be on the frontline. He speaks of scolding his oldest son for being selfish, and even half accuses Nie Huaisang of having organised this to avoid his duties, in spite of being so generously legitimised. In the end though, Father can’t go against an imperial order, and Nie Huaisang is sent away the very next day, having barely been given any time to pack for what might be a long stay in the capital.

It is a long trip to Gusu, made longer by the use of a carriage. Nie Huaisang is not a skilled enough rider to travel so far on horseback. His father had never seen the point of letting him learn until recently, stating a servant had no need for it. As slow days pass, Nie Huaisang entertains himself by chatting with his own servant (a man who until recently was not just his equal but his superior due to seniority), by admiring the landscape (it is his first time leaving Qinghe and its mountains, and the plains they traverse fill him with unease until they approach Gusu and new mountains save him from the oppressive flatness), and by wondering what will become of him in the capital.

Although they’ve all been quick to blame Nie Mingjue, as he travels toward Gusu and falls prey to boredom, Nie Huaisang allows himself to form another theory regarding his sudden summoning. It is only a fantasy, a silly idea, but he cannot stop thinking about that handsome young man with the mismatched robes he’d seen in his brother’s room that night. He had introduced himself as being part of the imperial family, and was of an age with the emperor, so he might have just enough influence to make a request to the son of heavens. For example, a request to have a certain seventeen years old bastard sent to the capital so they can continue their conversation.

It’s ridiculous, and Nie Huaisang sternly scolds himself whenever his thoughts go in that direction. But he cannot help himself. That young man had smiled so nicely, he’d laughed at Nie Huaisang’s weak jokes, he’d been much more polite than anyone ever bothered to be, and he’d said that he hoped to see him again. Wouldn't it be a lovely story if Nie Huaisang had made such a strong impression? He’s certainly thought a lot about that young man, even before the letter arrived. That imperial relative had been so handsome, his mouth so made to be kissed. His personality had been pleasant as well. 

In short, Nie Huaisang only wants the chance of a second meeting, and he’s quite certain he could fall in love with that handsome stranger.

-

Nie Huaisang’s cousin welcomes him with little warmth, but that’s only to be expected. On his only recent visit to Qinghe, Nie Funyu has made it quite clear that he does not approve of his relative’s decision to elevate a mere bastard, and a servant’s son at that, to the position of legitimate son. So after perfunctory welcomes, some exchanges of gifts, and the usual questions about everyone’s health, Nie Funyu abandons Nie Huaisang to the care of his personal servant, a young man by the name of Meng Yao.

Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang immediately strike a great friendship, in spite of their difference in status. It is something Nie Huaisang knows he will be scolded with, but he sympathises too much with servants, and forgets he no longer is one. Still, it would be hard not to like Meng Yao who shows him around the house, gives him rules to follow, advises him how to best please his uncle, and even shares some news about Nie Mingjue. They’ve missed each other, it turns out; Nie Mingjue left the capital only two days before his brother arrived, unable to delay his return to the border a moment longer.

That first morning is quite pleasant. Then, after a refined lunch, Meng Yao informs Nie Huaisang that he has been instructed to urgently take him to buy a better set of robes. The ones he’s brought are his best ones, but while they’re good enough for Qinghe, they just won’t do for Gusu, and especially not for a presentation to the emperor. How the emperor already knows that Nie Huaisang is in the capital, or indeed why he should care, is a mystery to both of them. But a message has already reached Nie Funyu’s house that his young cousin is to come to the imperial palace the next day, so the emperor might see for himself the younger brother of his dear friend Nie Mingjue.

It is not to be a formal meeting. After all Nie Huaisang holds no office, he is nobody, so there is little need for him to be introduced to the emperor the way a true son of noble blood would be. Instead, Nie Huaisang is encouraged to be present in a certain garden with his cousin at a certain hour, where the emperor might see him, and perhaps even acknowledge his presence, provided that nothing more important comes up.

That Meng Yao finds suitable robes on such short notice says a lot about his skill. Nie Huaisang, who had briefly wondered how a man barely three or four years older than himself could have become such a high ranking servant in so noble a house, finds his question answered and promises himself to learn from his new friend, so he can better serve his father when he returns home. To make it better, the robes that Meng Yao found are gorgeous. They’re second hand, since nothing new could have been found under such a delay, but they fit Nie Huaisang wonderfully, and make him look like he is worthy of being his father’s son. 

Nie Huaisang’s vanity is only increased the next morning when Meng Yao takes it upon himself to help with his hair. Nie Huaisang has always done that on his own, and his servant is not trained into that sort of task, so he is again grateful to Meng Yao for his help, especially when he’s so nervous that his hands tremble.

“What sort of man is the emperor?” Nie Huaisang asks as Meng Yao crafts elegant braids into his hair.

“Master says he is very wise for his age, and knows to carefully listen to his advisors before making decisions. He does his best to be impartial, and to listen to all sides of a story before passing judgement. Truly we are blessed to have such an emperor, he is far more dedicated to his people than his father was.”

“But as a person?”Nie Huaisang insists, chewing on his bottom lips. “Is he nice? He has to be, or Mingjue wouldn’t like him so much, but…”

Meng Yao smiles as he gathers the braids into a bun, and secures an elegant guan upon Nie Huaisang’s head, making him look like someone who isn’t him. Like someone who knows how to give order without doubting they'll be obeyed, and who has never cleaned a single pot in his life.

“Young Master Nie need not worry about the emperor’s personality,” Meng Yao says, stepping back to admire his work with a critical eye, before pulling in his robes a little here, straightening his collar there. “Young Master Nie is unlikely to have any occasion to meet his imperial highness after today. Even this encounter today will only happen as a mark of favour to your brother, and his imperial highness will most likely only address my Master, as you are not of a rank to be taken notice of.”

That is enough to quiet Nie Huaisang’s nerves a little. Enough at least to eat something and drink some tea before they set out toward the imperial palace. On the way there, Nie Funyu gives him a dozen orders, telling him how to conduct himself, how to stand, where to look, how to speak. It is clear he expects Nie Huaisang to make a fool of himself, and he might be right, but Nie Huaisang is determined to try his best to please everyone. Without Meng Yao’s comforting presence to calm him, his nerves are getting the better of him again, though it helps to remind himself that the emperor doesn’t care one bit about him. 

But also, if that young man with the pleasant smile is there, if he looks at Nie Huaisang, if he smiles at him again…

A foolish hope, when so many people live in the imperial palace. But it is a hope to which Nie Huaisang clings desperately. If they should meet again, if they could become acquainted… It is all Nie Huaisang really thinks about as his cousin and him head for the garden where they’ve been ordered to go, as they wait for the emperor to appear. 

At the time given to them, the emperor comes for a walk, heading their way. He is a young man, not much older than Nie Huaisang himself, but that much he already knew, since the son of heavens only came of age that year. What Nie Huaisang didn’t know, what he could never have imagined, was that the emperor should have such a warm smile, or that he would look even more beautiful when he isn’t soaked from heavy rains and wearing mismatched robes.

-

What passed during that brief meeting, Nie Huaisang could hardly say. He remembers only that the emperor smiled at him, called him by his name, and expressed the wish to become better acquainted with him, perhaps over a game of weiqi someday.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what he said in answer. He thinks he accepted both the offer of friendship and the invitation to play, if only because to refuse would have been impossible.

He doesn’t see the dark expression on his cousin’s face as they head back home, and barely hears the questions asking if he’s met the emperor before, where, what he said, what the emperor said. Nie Funyu isn't happy with the answers he's hearing, but Nie Huaisang hardly notices that either.

“Your father will have to be notified of this immediately,” Nie Funyu says when they are home again. “If the emperor has that sort of plans… well, the timing is not bad. We need his full support, and this isn’t a bad way to obtain it. Tomorrow you’ll go again with Meng Yao to buy another set of new robes. He’ll know how to dress you to your advantage.”

Nie Huaisang, touched by such generosity, can only nod and thank his cousin, before asking to be excused for the afternoon. It has been a while since he’s had a worthy opponent while playing weiqi, he wants to read about strategy to refresh his memory.

He also wants to be alone, just so he can laugh at himself a little.

To think that for weeks now, he’s been daydreaming about kissing the emperor! It’s the funniest thing in the world, and it should be a good lesson to him about letting silly emotions get out of control.

After all the emperor might be handsome, and he might have a pleasant smile, but he’s the emperor, and quite out of reach for someone like Nie Huaisang.

[woulddieforperrytheplatypus]

I've been rewatching all the Loki content to get ready for the new show and I have thought of A Phineas and Ferb AU™ for your viewing pleasure (and if anyone wants to turn any part of this into an actual fanfic I would owe you my life)

this post was brought to you in partnership with @dumbausfromdanville

You know how the first Thor movie ends with Loki yeeting himself off the Bifrost and falling to earth? What if, instead of going after the Tesseract, he falls straight to the Tri-State area?

Jane, Darcy, and Selvig all seemed to be on vacation, right? So Thor presumably took place during the summer — say, perhaps, ending on June 3? So he falls right onto Phineas and Ferb's rollercoaster just before it goes down that ♫ three-mile drop straight down ♪. He has no idea wtf is happening so it's not like he gets the chance to sit down and put on a seatbelt, so he's stuck holding on for dear life for the entire rollercoaster ride which Phineas and Ferb find weird but they're not really concerned bc they're chill lil dudes and tbh this isn't too far off a normal day for them.

Phineas and Loki strike up a none-too-pleasant conversation (not that Phineas notices Loki's bad mood; he's too Him to realize not everyone is rainbows and sunshine all day, every day), and our favorite lil disoriented demigod has to figure out where the fuck he is now ("You there. What realm is this?" "Danville 🙂" "Wut da fuk?") and what the fuck he's supposed to do now that he's here.

Phineas ends up inviting him to hang out for the afternoon, and Loki is about to turn him down but then he smells the pie. He's never had doonkleberry pie before so obviously he has to try it. Then, when Loki's no longer hangry, they can hold an actual conversation. It's lowkey more Loki wallowing in his own self-pity than anything else, but Ferb recognizes Asgard when Loki mentions it so he and Phineas piece together that he's a god pretty quickly.

More importantly, though, they figure out that he's completely alone, and because Loki never mentions trying to, you know, murder his brother and lowkey overthrow the monarchy, they just kinda assume Loki's family sucks (Ferb is completely prepared to start the anti-Thor club but Phineas stops him because he doesn't want his brother to get struck by lightning) and adopt him (without his consent, but it's not like he has anywhere else to be -- and he did like that pie).

Loki has no desire to build anything with the boys He thinks the idea of a backyard beach they make the next morning is stupid — even more stupid than a regular beach, and that's saying something. But over time, he gets more involved -- not just with the boys, but with the entire family. He helps the boys build their inventions. He talks about human history with Lawrence and corrects much of his knowledge on mythology. He lets Linda teach him how to bake seriously, her pies are so good. He even suffers through Candace's mall trips as long as he gets to go to that fro-yo place on the second floor (though he draws the line at any conversation involving romance).

He's still a little skeptical of the platypus (and he feels like the platypus is a little skeptical of him, too) but Phineas insists that he's "just a platypus" and he "doesn't do much." Loki doesn't realize that Perry's keeping an eye on him for OWCA, nor does he know that Monogram has absolutely no idea what to make of the dude so he hasn't actually told any of his superiors about him. As far as the government is concerned, after the fiasco in New Mexico, Loki just disappeared.

This makes it fucking hilarious when the boys accidentally steal the superheroes' powers in Mission: Marvel and the superheroes show up at the Flynn-Fletchers' front door only to see fucking Loki. Loki just shuts the door in their faces without a word because what the fuck?, but eventually Phineas and Ferb go check the door and they agree to help the heroes (much to Loki's chagrin), which, of course, isn't complete with Candace fangirling over them (also much to Loki's chagrin; she never fangirled over him). At first the Avengers are fully convinced that Loki is responsible for stealing their powers, and Loki never actually denies it because he's a little shit but Phineas, Ferb, and their friends are very insistent that Loki didn't do anything (except a little bit of manual labor putting together the satellites because they're 10 and he's a whole-ass demigod).

At some point, Thor and Loki have a very heated discussion about the events of Thor, and it's pretty much all news to the Flynn-Fletchers and their friends. They're not really sure what to make of it so they basically glue their mouths shut and watch it all play out. I'd like to think it goes something like it does in The Avengers and that a) Thor is pissed because what the fuck have you been up to Loki you fucking dumbass, b) Thor has been in mourning since Loki yeeted himself into the abyss and he wants to make sure the guy knows it, and c) Loki does not take it seriously at all he's being antagonistic the entire time because he is so sick of Mr. High-And-Mighty's shit. In the end, Loki storms out of the SHEDquarters and Phineas doesn't even think to try to stop him until he's halfway out the door and it's too late.

He shows up again when Phineas, Ferb, and the Avengers try to fight the bad guys in the mall with the wrong powers and he basically singlehandedly saves their asses until superhero Perry shows up. As everyone's favorite shapeshifter, he has absolutely no problem figuring out that this beaver duck dude is the Flynn-Fletchers' platypus. He has no idea what to do with that information, but it sure is information that he now has apparently. (At this point, poor Loki has a very warped sense of what earth is supposed to be like lmao).

Phineas tries to get Loki to come back with them after superhero Perry grabs them and carries them home. Instead, Loki cuts himself loose and falls like 30 feet straight down (and tbh after falling from the Bifrost, that's nothing to him) and peaces the fuck out.

Loki ends up accidentally bonding with Candace and Isabella over feeling useless and unwanted (and he absolutely gets his own verse in Only Trying to Help because it's what he deserves), but unlike the two girls who are hell-bent on changing that, Loki is content wallowing in his own self-pity. He's tried this whole "being important" thing before and he ended up in self-exile for it. He's not putting himself through it again because he really doesn't expect it to end well. But then the powerless heroes decide to face the villains again, and with Candace and Isabella in space and Perry nowhere to be seen, he realizes it is once again up to him to keep the tri-state area safe (which he knows is a stupid priority but he's gotten kind of attached to these stupid little humans and he wants to keep them safe).

Then the heroes get their powers back and they join Loki (and Perry and the mysterious waffle gun in the sky) and beat the shit out of the villains. Thor and Loki work together in the heat of the battle which serves as a Great Bonding Moment™, and once the villains are gone, they have a nice lil heart-to-heart where they both apologize for their past. Thor remarks that Loki seems to have grown a lot over the last couple of months and tries to bring Loki home with him, but Loki refuses. He'll never be welcome back into Asgard, no matter what Thor may say.

But he is welcome with the Flynn-Fletchers, who are completely over the fact that he tried to ruin Thor's life and take his not-so-rightful place on the throne (except Candace who's very skeptical about having him back but it's not like Linda will believe her if she tries to tell her what Thor and Loki talked about so her opinion is unfortunately as irrelevant as it usually is on the show).

And early the next morning, before anyone else is awake, Perry gets an alert that he's needed in his headquarters (presumably to talk to or about Fury). He quietly sneaks off, only to find Loki waiting at the bottom of the stairs for him. They have a very nice "conversation" (not that Perry speaks) about the superhero Ducky Momo they saw the day before, and Loki assures him that his secret is safe, thus starting a much-needed bromance between Loki and Perry because it's what my babies, goddammit!

Anyways yeah if anyone wants to write a fanfic about Loki hanging out with Phineas and Ferb during his self-exile I would give you a socially distant high-five because I want to read it but I have too many other fanfics on my plate to start this one for at least a few months. It doesn't have to follow this prompt literally at all (I swear I wasn't trying to get this in-depth with it but this is what I do apparently) or it can follow this prompt exactly idc i just want a PnF/Loki fanfic 🥺

[fanfics-with-coffee]

Dabi and Bakugou rarely got along but when they do, it's to double team you. You had been riling them up every time you entered the bar but never let them get any satisfaction, until you agreed on Dabi's dumb challenge. Drink the Blowjob shot the way it's suppose to be had, from between their legs and using no hands.

(This is a re-post from my AO3 work)

Genre: Smut, just smut, Bar!au Characters: Bakugou x reader x Dabi

The neon sign glared down at the people on the street, illuminating everyone in a bright red light. You basked in the light, surrounded by your giggling friends as you made your ways through the crowd of people. This wasn’t your first time in the light and you knew it wouldn’t be your last either. Best bar in the whole district, the whole city even if you asked any lady leaving the place. But you did agree, if you were going to have a drink anywhere then Valor would be it. If you could be so bold then you’d even call yourself a bit of a celebrity at the place. Everyone there knew who you were and knew how you took your drinks. So you often brought your friends along so both brag and give the place some extra income.

After some shuffling of bodies and holding your friends hands you made it to the front of the people, right up to the entrance. You smiled at the bouncer and he smiled right back, showing off his sharp teeth. He was suited up like usual, the suit pants and white button up fitting well around his crossed arms and muscular chest. His bright red hair was spiked as usual and his face was now highlighted red from the neon sign.

“Good evening, ladies! What can I do for ya?” Kirishima asked as if he didn’t know what you wanted, looking behind you to see the awed looks of your friends as they obviously checked out the cutie in front of you. You placed a hand on your hip, pulling the coat you were wearing a little closer to you to keep the cold out.

“Oh you know, just wanted to show my friends this really nice bar i’ve been visiting.” You said with a coy tone, looking around you as if you didn’t know the layout. You made eye contact with the blondie guarding the other door, the black streak in his hair reflecting the red light. He winked at you with a grin before looking over your friends, clearly curious. But he quickly needed to go back to his queue and checking ID’s so the line wouldn’t be held up for too long. Kirishima followed your eyes while nodding, humming in fake curiosity.

“Is that so… Well why don’t you ladies head in then and order something then? Show them why you like it so much, eh?” The redhead looked past you and at your friends, giving them a charming grin and wink before looking at you again. He took a step to the side, making way so your whole group could enter. You gave him a pat on the arm and mouthed a ‘Thank you’ while you walked past him. He just nodded and watched the rest of your friends also walk past him. As you enter the bar you’re met by the warmth first of all. The bodies filling the place was heating up the whole room but you didn’t mind, it was actually very welcoming compared to the cold outside. The second thing that hit you was the music playing through the speakers. While it was soft the music was obviously from the weeks top lists, the beat of the songs being felt through the air. You started peeling your jacket off of you, eyes scanning over the environment. The whole place was dimly lit, the only bright lights shining being the ones under the bar and behind the shelves filled with alcohol. There were the occasional lamp used to set the mood in the place but they were never at full power. The interior was mostly black with details in gold and the dark wood surfaces. Fancy.

You walked confidently to the wardrobe section, smiling at Momo as she took your coat and handed you a number plate that you placed in your handbag. Your friends did the same but you stopped paying too much mind to them, they could handle themselves and you knew the place took care of their customers so you had nothing to worry about. You had something more important in mind. Eyes locking onto the bar you quickly found a spot you could sit down at, miraculously.

You searched the space between the bar and quickly found one out of the two people you were looking for. The tall young man was pouring a beer from the tap while having eye contact with a girl leaning on the counter, smiling at him. He looked mildly amused, raising an eyebrow as she kept talking. He responded to her, his bright red eyes illuminated by the bar lights but you don’t know what he said. You didn’t particularly care either, most of the girls kept repeating the same conversation subjects. He dragged a hand through his blonde hair but it didn’t do much to deter the spikes from forming again while he handed the girl the glass with a smile. You noticed he had shaved the undercut shorter since last time, it looked much neater and clean cut tonight. He was as always dressed in the bartender outfit, the bright red button up and black vest. You could see from your seat that the top buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned, obviously revealing parts of his collarbone and chest. He had yet to notice you but that was about to change.

While you were staring at one of your favorite subjects the other had found you before you had the time to find him.

“Back again, huh, dollface?” The hoarse voice welcomed you back to the bar and you already knew who it was. You smiled and turned your face to notice you were mere inches from the owner of the voice. He was giving you lazy grin, the movement of his mouth extenuating the port wine stain birthmarks around his mouth and going down his neck, the thick tattooed on stitches between his normal skin and the birthmarks still in view. You two stayed like that for a moment, daring each other to move away first. His warm breath hit your lips when he huffed and leaned back, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Placing his hands on the counter he made you feel trapped in his presence. You looked at the tattoos covering his arms, full on sleeves creeping up under his rolled up shirt. Finally you met his eyes again, those bright blue eyes staring down at you. You could see the fading scars on the birthmarks under his eyes, a probably long story you had only heard bits and pieces of. Apparently he had gotten in some trouble and the guys had threatened to cut his eyes out and almost did too. He always jokes about how lucky he is to still have sight or he would never have been able say he’s seen an angel. And if you were the angel then it was no doubt he'd be the devil. With the multiple piercings you've seen glimpses of in the light and the jet black hair playfully sticking up everywhere, you wouldn't be surprised if he revealed himself as an incubi.

“Indeed. I mean, I know I can’t be gone for too long without your ego getting too big, Dabi” You smirked back at his lazy grin, watching his hands move to make you a mojito. He chuckled and looked down to measure the content of your glass, nodding in joking agreement.

“You’re not wrong, the girls around here are easy when you look as good as me, you know? Gets boring after a while. But you… You’re fun Y/N.” He points a black straw at you before putting it in your drink and placing it in front of you. You keep the eye contact going as you pick up your glass and take a sip from it, the refreshing sweetness filling your mouth. The tension was palpable and it had been like this every time you hang out here for a long while now. Everytime you were there you’d tease him and play hard to get, only giving him enough to hold onto the hope that maybe one day you'll be another notch in his belt. Never accepting his dumb bets yet never saying no. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oi, if you two are finished eye fucking each other then maybe emo boy here can get back to work?” The tension was broken by the voice of dear blondie who had left the conversation with the girl and come to join you and Dabi. Bakugou didn’t look pleased as he glared at the taller man and defensively placed a hand on the counter to the right of you, making Dabi lift his own hand from the spot and releasing you from his almost hypnotic hold.

“It’s called goth, hot shot. And I was working, can't you see I provided angel here with a drink?" he motioned to the drink in your hand which you helpfully raised to show the truth of his statement, smiling sweetly towards Bakugou the whole time just to annoy him. He looked at the drink for a short moment before giving it a look of disgust and making eye contact with you again, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"You should keep yourself to your simple fucking shots, you can at least make those right. Leave the actual drinks to the actual…" Bakugou looked Dabi up and down before staring him in the face. "Bartenders. We don't need to pretend we know what we're doing unlike you extra." The two had started to attract a small crowd, some girls because they thought the two men were attractive and some because they actually wanted to know what was going on. You just sat there calmly, this wasn't their first dispute in front of a crowd nor your first time having a front row seat. Dabi didn't move a visible muscle and instead just stood there with a deadpan glare, watching as Bakugou prepared another mojito. All you could see was his chest rising and falling in an even pace.

When Bakugou finished the drink, with some flare of course, he placed it in front of you. It was neater than your first one, a lime slice delicately placed on the rim of the glass together with a mint leaf as garnish. During the time it took to make the drink Dabi had already sighed and poured himself a shot, downing it when your glass had hit the table. He knew he wasn't supposed to drink on the job but he also knew there wasn't anyone that was gonna stop him. Bakugou ignored him and instead took to watching you, impatiently waiting for you to try his obviously superior drink. And so you did, taking an equally big sip as you took from the first one, you knew how picky he was.

"Well… While I appreciate the thought and concern you have, Bakugou, and it's true that your drink was served better… They taste the same. And I'm pretty sure I'll get just as drunk from either." you place your final verdict, eliciting a laugh from Dabi and a look of something akin to horror from Bakugou. Dabi slung his arm over Bakugou's shoulders, leaning heavily on him as a smug grin crept onto his face.

"What was that now again, hot stuff? Didn't need to pretend huh? Sure, sure… Well if I'm better at shots then I am at drinks then I must be a master at them, so how about we have one?" The tattooed man asked, standing up again and pulling up his shirt sleeves again. As he started on those, pulling out three shot glasses for each and every one of you presumably, you looked towards your favorite blonde who had crossed his arms and was bitterly staring at your two drinks.

"Do you want me to pay for both, or do I get one for free?" You smiled at him, sipping on the drink made by him just to appease him a little. While you didn't have as obvious of a sexual tension with him there had been countless moments where you were sure he'd been so riled up he would've taken you on the bar itself you allowed it. The hot headed man might be smooth in front of the ladies coming and going, it's part of the job, but you liked to get just a little too close. A little too on the edge for him to truly be in his element. And it frustrated him to no end. Yet now he just shook his head in vague defeat.

"No, obviously not, why the fuck would you pay for both? And since we made a crowd take both, just don't you fucking dare tell Iida we're drinking shots while working." he gave you a serious glare while you just laughed and nodded, obviously promising to not rat them out.

In the next moment you had three glasses put before you and Dabi once again joined the conversation. You examined the shots and realize what was going through the blue eyed man's head. The whipped cream at the top was the biggest clue but the shit eating grin he was wearing didn't help his case either. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms, watching Dabi closely, waiting for his excuse this time.

"Well since you're getting drinks on the house then maybe you owe us a little something. You always decline my challenge with a smug fucking smirk on your pretty face but now I find that you have few excuses, princess. C'mon, for poor Bakugou whose ego you crushed." Dabi patted Bakugou's chest while staring at you, ignoring Bakugou's futile protests. You watched them, glanced at the shots and then looked back up to them.

The light shone from behind them, illuminating them and reflecting off the glasses you were drinking from. Both their shirts had unbuttoned buttons and you had a clear view of parts of their chest, further enticing you to accept Dabi's challenge and maybe show them who's got who wrapped around their finger. You soak in the view for a second before unraveling your arms.

"Well you still haven't issued the challenge, Dabi, or what's in it for me if I win."

"Or lose, Angel. I want you to drink the blowjob shots the way they're supposed to be taken. From between our legs without using your hands. If you don't spill anything then I'll pay for your drinks for the rest of the evening. If you do spill… Well I'm sure we can agree to a fitting punishment when we get there. And you can't spill anything from either of them, deal?" This wasn't the first time Dabi had challenged you, nor were you the first person he'd used this tactic on. You'd usually hear Bakugou complaining that he'd found the two making out in the backroom afterwards, even if the other participant had won. But this time he involved someone else too and well, the look you're imagining Bakugou having during it might just be worth it.

"Pay for my friends drinks too and we have a deal." you informed him on your condition as you stood up, knowing that you'd have to move to find a better fitting spot to do this, away from too many peering eyes. Dabi didn't respond and instead just grinned and grabbed two of the shots, following you out from behind the bar. Bakugou took a second to debate if this was a good idea or not but watching you walk away, your hips swaying enticingly managed to convince him. "Fuck it…"

You knew exactly where you all could get out of the spotlight and moved over to a corner with a booth. You sat down on the end of one of the couches, watching the two men arrive after you. Bakugou had grabbed the last shot and was cautiously looking around for anyone watching you, or a co-worker noticing their absence. Dabi on the other hand had his eyes on you, placing one of the shots he was holding besides you on the table, towering over you. You just looked up at him and smiled. He grinned back before grabbing a random chair from one of the other tables, dragging it so it faced you.

Dabi didn’t hesitate to sit down, spreading his legs apart so you could see the pants straining against his crotch. With one hand he placed the cream topped glass between his legs on the seat, the other arm he leaned the elbow on the back of the chair. His muscles were tensing up under the red shirt as to keep the position and you could just imagine what was hiding underneath. He cocked his head to the side and gave you a shit eating grin, lifting an expectant eyebrow at you.

“Well, dollface?” You made eye contact with him and an involuntary shiver went down your spine going straight to between your legs. You didn’t expect it to affect you this much this quickly. Free drinks sounded really good at the time but now you’re not even sure you’ll be able to stay long enough to enjoy them. Yet you couldn’t give up before you’d even started.

You didn’t dare respond to him and instead hid the rush of blood to your face with a smug smile, straightening your back. You dragged your hand through your hair to pull it back before you bent down, keeping eye contact with those blue eyes. If he was going to try and mess you up then you could at least try and do the same. He had moved his hand from the glass and had instead placed it on his thigh besides your head. You opened your mouth and glanced at the glass to make sure you got it. Before you took it into your mouth you made sure to lick the cream off the top, looking up at him through your lashes.

That got a reaction out of him. The grin he was so proudly wearing dropped and instead he stared down at you with his mouth slightly agape. It looked like he was already breathing heavy and you could see him clench his hand in the corner of your eye. Proud of your work you grabbed the shot glass with your mouth and threw your head back, downing the shot in one go. You gracefully grabbed the now empty glass and then slammed it on the table. You removed some of the cream that had gotten on the corner of your mouth with the knuckle of your finger.

“Next.” You said, confidence dripping from your voice. If the music wasn’t blaring through the speakers then you swear you could’ve heard Bakugou swallow nervously. Dabi just chuckled and stood up but before he had fully turned around you could see the outline of something in his pants, pushing against the fabric. You ego only grew at the sight.

“Your turn, hot stuff.” Dabi patted Bakugou's shoulder, pulling him from his hypnotised staring at your lips. He quickly realized what he had been doing and looked away, not ready to admit to his actions. Despite that he still walked over and sat on the chair.

He mimicked Dabi and spread his legs as well, his pants also straining on his crotch. Even in the dim light you could see that something was pushing against the fabric in his pants as well. Your gaze fell to it and your mind was about to start wandering if Bakugou's hand hadn’t gotten in the way when he placed the shot. Unlike Dabi, Bakugou wasn’t as confident and had a difficult time knowing where to place his hands, deciding in the end to just cross his arms. The action just made the muscles on his arms even more visible. He didn’t dare make any eye contact Once again you could feel your body react, your breathing slowing and becoming heavier but you were hoping they didn’t notice. But with your luck, Dabi must’ve. But you didn’t let him say anything as you just smiled again and leaned down. Bakugou was still not looking though and you just couldn’t have that. So you took your hands and placed them on his inner thighs, grabbing onto the surprisingly muscular meat.

You felt him jump slightly and snap his head to look at you. You just looked back up and smiled, giving him a wink. Bakugou would argue that it was just the red lights but you knew he was blushing mad. You decided to cut his suffering short, afraid that if you turned him on any more it’d start to be painful in those tight pants of his. So you opened your mouth, ignoring the obvious hard on right in front of your face and took the glass into your mouth. But as you pulled back up you heard Bakugou mutter something under his breath.

“Fuck, babygirl…”

His voice had been strained and quiet but you caught it in the middle of all the noise surrounding you despite him trying to cover his mouth with his clenched hand. And you lost it. You choked on the shot and had to grab the glass from mouth before your could down the whole thing. You coughed and placed a hand on your chest, trying to regain your breath. You placed the half empty glass on the table beside the other two. Bakugou shot out of his chair to make sure you were alright but didn’t quite know what to do.

“Shit…” You mumbled, realizing what had just happened. You lost. You looked up at Bakugou who was still worried about you choking while Dabi was closing in from the side. His grin was already giving away what he was thinking.

“Well well well, angel. You talked so big yet couldn’t take a little dirty talking. Cute. But what should we do with you now? Bakugou?” Dabi had snaked an arm around Bakugous shoulders once again, caging you in between the two men. Bakugou just looked at him confused and disturbed before it clicked in his head what he was talking about. He just grunted and looked back down at you, something had shifted in his eyes and they weren’t as innocent as they had been before.

“Let’s get out of here.”

You weren’t prepared for the tone of voice from the blonde. Your heart began beating quicker as you started to form an understanding of what you had gotten yourself into. Dabi just grinned and took a step back, motioning for us to “go ahead”. You looked to the table and saw the last shot and decided to down it too before standing up. Bakugou didn’t take a step back though and you hit his chest with your own, looking up at him surprised. You felt his hot breath against your face and his stare made you weak in the knees. His hands grabbed your waist and without a second thought he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulders.

You yelped at the sudden motion and saw the whole world start to move as Bakugou turned to head out the backdoor. Dabi soon joined your view, casually strolling behind you two, chuckling at the sight.

“Your place is close to here, right?” Bakugou asked, glancing back at the taller male who just nodded.

“Yup, third floor in the building just across from here.” Dabi took the lead and Bakugou followed. You just clinged to the back of Bakugou's vest, trying to see what was happening in the front and hoping not too many people saw you in such an embarrassing situation. But you couldn’t help but feel that maybe it didn’t matter, maybe what was about to happen was worth the embarrassment.

“I swear to god if the apartment is filthy or you haven’t changed the bed sheets since your last fuck buddy I’m taking her and leaving.” You watched the stairs as Bakugou went up them, still carrying you. One hand firmly planted on your ass, either to keep your dress from riding up or just because he wanted to cop a feel. As he finished his sentence you two stopped and you could hear a key turning in a lock and a door opening just after.

You weren’t put down until the door had once again been closed and you were all in Dabi’s apartment. And even then you didn’t have a moment to take in your surroundings as Bakugou blocked your view, grabbing your chin gently. You looked up into his eyes once again, meeting his deep red ones with your wide ones.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since you opened those pretty lips of yours.” He muttered, eyes glancing down at your lips and then up again. Wasting no more time he pressed his to yours and you almost couldn’t believe it. He was pressing firmly, almost as he was afraid it was a dream he’d wake from, tilting his head to the side as his hands found your neck. You closed your eyes, enjoying the moment and moving your hands over the shaved part of his head. That’s when a third pair of hands joined in.

“Don’t forget that this is a punishment, angel, not a prize.” Dabi whispered in your ear, his hands going down your front, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up, exposing your panties. You gasped at the sudden movement only to have Bakugou use it to his advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth and brushing it against your own. Your sounds were muffled as Dabi used one hand to cup your boob, the other sneaking down to feel you through your underwear. You knew he could feel your wetness through the fabric.

“Shit, so cute, you’re already wet… At this rate you’ll have to problem taking both of us.” You heard him muse as he looked at you from over your shoulder. You couldn’t respond thanks to Bakugou's invasion of your mouth and only whimpered. Dabi chuckled at your predicament and instead of trying to help you just made it worse by slipping his hands underneath the hem of your panties instead. Sliding two fingers between your nether lips he found the bundle of nerves placed between them. He didn’t even hesitate to start drawing slow circles around your clit.

You had to pull away from bakugou, putting your hands on his chest to keep him from going back for round two too quickly. You were panting and letting out small whimpers, unable to look at his face. He stared at you confused before realizing what the other man was doing and how it was affecting you. The two made eye contact with you in between them, Dabi never relenting on his assault on your bud.

“Oi, don’t you have a better place to do this then your hallway?” You heard Bakugou speak above you. His hands moved to your waist and then your back, pulling you closer to him defensively.

“You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to move to the bedroom so don’t blame me, hot shot” Dabi finally pulled his hands out of your underwear and you took a deep breath of relief from the constant stimulus. You legs were quivering from the assault on your senses and the sudden lack of it. But before you could truly calm down you were pulled from Bakugou's warm embrace and into Dabi’s arms instead as he started to lead you away. You could hear Bakugou’s hurried steps behind and the rustling of clothes.

You moved through the small apartment and to a bedroom. The double bed was made and you were about to go sit down, give yourself a break. But as soon as you moved towards it a hand grabbed your arm, looking back at the owner of the hand you saw Dabi shaking his head.

“Remember what I said before? Punishment, not reward, babygirl.” You felt your stomach sink but ironically also fill with butterflies.

“Help her out of that dress and underwear, will ya, hot stuff?” You were handed over to Bakugou who looked about as confused as you. Dabi went and opened a cupboard and you heard the clinking of metal from it as he searched it’s content. He hummed in satisfaction as he placed a bottle on top of the cupboard and then something that glimmered in the light coming from the window. At the same time Bakugou had done as he was told, pulling the dress higher and higher and with your help it had slipped right off. The bra was quickly unclasped and thrown to the side as well just like the panties had been. You could feel his red eyes look you up and down, watching the newly exposed skin as if it were gold.

“Here we go… Hands in front, dollface.” Dabi sauntered back to you two and without thinking you obeyed, holding out your hands in front of you. He grabbed your wrists and soon the sound of something clicking shut filled the room. You looked at your wrists and saw handcuffs now hanging from them. The black fur was kind to your skin though and they weren’t too tight so you couldn’t complain. But you still stared in awe at them, as did Bakugou.

“Ain’t too tight? No? Good. Then get on your knees.” A simple hand on your shoulder had you falling to your knees without second thoughts. You began to wonder what these men had done to you.

As you were down there you watched Dabi unzip the black pants which had been getting tighter and tighter the further the three of you had gone. He dropped them to the ground and you watched as if hypnotised by the tent formed in his underwear. You could hear him chuckle above you, amused at your wide eyes stare. He did quick work of his underwear as well, fishing himself out of them with practiced skill. He was semi hard already, a tuft of hair at the base of his slim cock. He lazily started to work himself to full mast while watching you.

“Liking what you see, I take it. Good. I can see your mouth salivating already, why don’t you taste it?” You looked up at him for a split second before looking at his cock again which he’s let go already. You almost timidly pull on it, opening your mouth to take him in. You swirl your tongue over the tip before taking more and more into your mouth. You close your eyes to focus, letting him slip further down your throat. A hand carefully grabs the back of your head and grabs a handful of your hair. He’s impatient, probably from the build up at the bar and start to set a slow pace which you follow. You feel the tip of his dick drag across your tongue and the back again as the pace speeds up. Soon he’s set a reasonable pace and you open your eyes again to look up at him.

He’s panting and watching you closely, his eyes half lidded by now aroused he is. The sight makes you even hornier and you feel that you need some release yourself and move your hands down to your own crotch. But nothing slips past Dabi's watchful eyes and he speaks up before you can do anything about your own arousal.

“Hey, we didn’t tell you you could touch yourself. Why don’t you do something productive and jack Bakugou off instead? He’s been drooling all over you since you started bobbing your head like a good girl.” You looked to the side and saw Bakugou, he had pulled down his pants and underwear without you even noticing, even his vest was gone and shirt unbuttoned as he worked his own manhood. You two made eye contact and you reached out with your handcuffed hands. The blonde sucked in breath from between clenched teeth and took a step closer, letting you take over for him.

The three of you kept this up for a bit, you bobbing your head on Dabi's dick while he controlled your pace with his hands while your own hands were jacking off a panting and cursing Bakugou. You had lost track of time until Dabi pulled out of your mouth, your spit covering his shaft and your own chin. The lack of fullness had you desperately looking up at Dabi who was visibly trying to restrain himself. At the same time you slowed your hands movements, bewildered by the sudden pull out.

“Shit, don’t look at me like that, dollface, or I might just finish in your mou-” He was cut off by Bakugou grabbing your head and pulling you to him instead, taking full advantage of your open and confused mouth. He was much rougher than Dabi, instead of pacing you he was face fucking you, keeping your head still as he pounded your throat. But the moment only lasted so long as even Bakugou had to pull out as to not cum down your throat and cut his playtime short. You sputtered and coughed after the sudden invasion but was ultimately sad he had stopped.

“Sorry, babygirl but I had to know how your mouth felt wrapped around my cock.. It just looked so inviting and I couldn’t stand you looking at juts him like that.” Bakugou confessed, looking down at you, panting after the sudden burst of energy.

“I was wondering when that explosive personality was gonna play part in this. But enough foreplay, get her on her feet..” Bakugou helped you up, holding onto you so you wouldn’t fall. He pulled you up to his chest and slipped a hand between your legs. Now it was his turn with you and his fingers were much thicker than Dabi’s had been. He didn’t dwell too long on your clit, only playing with it a second before traveling deeper. By now your juices had stained your thighs and he had no problem slipping two fingers into you. Despite the roughing up he had done to your face before he was now slow and calculated in fingering you, pushing in and pulling out in deliberate movements. You were desperately needing something more and ground your hips into his hand. He paid you no mind as his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking on it so he knew it would leave marks. There was nothing you could do but moan and sigh, letting your head fall back on his shoulder.

You two were soon pulled out of your little bubble by the sound of chains falling. You opened your eyes and saw Dabi pulling on a chain from his ceiling. He noticed your staring and just smiled lazily, giving you a come hither motion with his hand. You could feel Bakugous hesitation but you were soon let go, his fingers slipping out of you. You stumbled forward to follow Dabi’s instructions. When you got close enough he pulled you to him by your handcuffs and raised them. Another click and your handcuffs were stuck to the chain, your arms raised above your head. Dabi took a step back and examined you, seemingly proud of his work.

“There we go, angel… Now the fun can really begin.” He stepped in close again and kissed your lips briefly. Then he left you standing there in the otherwise cold room. He went back to the cupboard and grabbed the bottle he placed there before. While he was gone Bakugou had once again snuck back to you, figuring out just what he had planned. He stood in front of you without saying a word, just watching your chest heave. Then he bent down and grabbed the back of your thigh. And then the other. Standing back up he pulled you with, lifting you up into the air and keeping you there, spread legs presenting everything to him. He looked down and then back up, grinning and leaning in close to you.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you, babygirl? I’m gonna pound into you until you can’t think of anything but my cock in your pussy. How many times I’ve imagined pushing your face down on the counter at the bar and taking you right then and there, letting everyone see what a good fucking looks like. And I bet you would’ve taken it, wouldn’t you? Like a good girl you would’ve begged me to make you cum. Let’s see if you beg like my mind thinks you do.”

You were speechless. The words coming from Bakugou were something you wouldn’t have expected yet he was growling them to you as if he’d practiced it before hand. You swear you would’ve come right then and there if you didn’t know you’d be punished for it. He didn’t make it any easier when he pushed his thick dick inside of you, slowly but surely pushing himself to the hilt.

You were pulling yourself up on the chain involuntarily from the pleasure entering your system. Arching your back you felt your back hit something warm. Another hand joined on your body, one holding onto the underside of your thigh. Then something cold hit the small of your back and running down your ass making you gasp and clench on Bakugou’s cock.

“I see you two started the fun without me… That isn’t fair but I guess it wasn’t your fault, was it (Y/N)?” Dabi’s voice was behind you and you tried to look at him but your arm was blocking you from turning your head. His other hand suddenly appeared, clearly lubed up and pushing at your other hole. You naturally clenched up more and hear Bakugou curse in front of you.

“Shh no no babygirl, relax… You trust us right? We’ll make it feel good, I promise you’ll be cumming and screaming our names in minutes if you just… relax..” Dabi’s soothing voice calms you down and with some effort you managed to calm your muscles enough to let Dabi’s fingers enter. He praised you as he starts to pump one finger in and out of your whole, then two. It’s clear he’s done this before and knows exactly how to work your buttons. Bakugou wasn’t patient enough to wait for that long and was slowly pulling in and out of you himself, one hand having moved to have his thumb rub circles on your clit. Not enough to make you cum but enough to make you relax more.

Soon enough Dabi was able to scissor his fingers in your ass without you wincing in pain. He pulled out and used his now free hand to help hold you up after having lubed up his own dick. He started to push slowly, the head of his cock slipping into you and you gasp and arch your back again. He stops for a second, looking to make sure you’re still alright before he starts pushing again. Soon he’s pushed himself to the hilt together with Bakugou filling up your pussy. You’ve never felt this full and it did feel amazing, both men pushing at your most sensitive spots.

“See? I told you. Now let’s show you what it means to take two men at the same time, dollface. You’re gonna love it.” He whispered the last part in your ear and your eyes widened as they started to move. What started out in synchronised thrusts soon derailed as they picked up pace. Both of them pushing in and pulling out of you at whatever pace worked for them. Bakugou made sure his thrusts were deep and made you feel full as he sheathed inside you while Dabi was much more erratic and quick, stimulating and pounding the sweet spots of your inside. And their moaning, sighing and groaning was mixed together with your own noises as you all chased your releases. And they came quick

“D-dabi… Bakugou…. I’m about… to.. to cum... “ You managed to get out between moans and you hoped the two men heard you. Luckily they did as they both slowed down much to your own dismay.

“Is that so, angel? You’re gonna cum on our cocks as we pound into you, huh?” Dabi asked teasingly from behind you but Bakugou had other plans.

“Beg for it, babygirl. Beg. for. it.” Every word was emphasised with a thrust of his hips and you whimpered. You couldn’t help but hesitate as you looked into his eyes and saw that he was completely serious, his eyes glazed over and primal. But your need for release was greater and won over your own embarrassment rather quickly.

“Please… Please let me cum. I need to cum, I’ve been needing it since t-the beginning. Since I sucked your big cock, I’ve never been so horny. Fuck, please? Please pound i-into me until I can’t think of anything else, I wan’t you two to fill me and fuck me and and fuck shit, please.” You rambled on and on, trying to convince the two men to let you cum while your head felt fuzzy and you couldn’t think straight. You could see Bakugou’s grin grow on his face and he sped up his pace.

“Good fucking girl, begging like that…. shit… Alright, we’re counting down from 10. You can’t cum… until we reach 0.” You felt them both ready themselves to destroy you in those last 10 seconds and yet you didn’t care, nodding your head desperately.

“Good. 10”

They started, with a newly regained energy they went back to their quickest pace, no mercy this time. But you didn’t mind, you head went all fuzzy again and you got a far away look in your eyes.

“9”

“8”

“7”

“6”

“5”

One of Dabi's hands moved from your thigh and started to rub your clit again. You felt his grin against your shoulder and you cried out.

“Little more, babygirl. 4”

You felt the orgasm approach you like an oncoming train.

“3”

It wasn’t fair, none of this, you realized. But why did it turn you on so fucking much?

“2”

“1”

“Come on, (Y/N), cum.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement then that as you let the tidal wave hit you. It washed over you and made you spazz out, closing your eyes tightly as the two men didn’t stop. They became even more erratic in their movement and even quicker to pound in and out of you. As the white light flashed before your eyes you felt them cum too, filling you up yet they still moved. They both went quiet, trying to keep themselves from buckling under their own orgasms. Dabi’s fingers never stopped rubbing your clit.

Your orgasm had come and gone yet they didn't’t. Fucking. Stop. You were desperately whimpering and trying to pull away from the two but there was no way you could from your position. So you took it. Dabi’s fingers were rubbing your over sensitive clit and the two were like wild animals in heat as they kept fucking you. You didn’t know how but you didn’t care either, another orgasm was on its way way quicker than you had anticipated.

It hit you again and tears spotted your eyes, the electricity going through your body and making you shake once again. Only then did the two seem satisfied, slowing themselves down to a halt yet not pulling out. There’s was a moment of just silence apart from all of you panting and catching your breath from the whole ordeal. Then you started laughing

It was quiet but you laughed, exhausted. Soon the two joined in with their own quiet chuckled.

“Shit… That was really fucking good. Didn’t expect to have this good of a fucking time with this loser” Bakugou looked around you to give Dabi a look before looking back to you. He paused for a moment before he leaned up again, giving you a gentle kiss. You felt Dabi take his turn to leave a hickey on your neck as you kissed Bakugou but you couldn’t care less at that moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, hot stuff. Thought you knew I was the best fuck in this whole damn place. Apart from angel here, of course” Dabi responded after he let go of your neck, happy with his work.

“So… Whose up for another shot?”

[firelxdykatara]

If you think their stories lacked empathy do you think Hama and Jet were redeemable? I don't hate Iroh or Azula or Zuko tbc, I'm just hearing a lot of people say it's unfair that people from the fire nation got to change when the people the Fire Nation hurt weren't.

My answer to the question of ‘could this character be redeemable’ is almost always going to be ‘yes’, unless the character in question is the literal embodiment of all evil or something. Galactus? Probably not redeemable, he’s a massive planet eater with no real conscious thought except, well, eating planets.

Can be redeemed is not the same as should be redeemed, though, and it also isn’t the same as ‘with the way this story has been constructed and executed thus far, I think a redemption would make sense’. Sometimes, the hero just has to kill the villain, or at least put them down/imprison/otherwise depower them to keep them from being a threat. (I’d argue that Ozai could not have reasonably been redeemed, given the story that was set up, and also that he wasn’t actually sufficiently depowered, and that even if Aang wasn’t gonna kill him, he should have been brought before a tribunal and executed for crimes against the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes, and that leaving him alive indefinitely is the reason the New Ozai Society was able to gain traction, because his political power was not intrinsically tied to his bending, but that’s another rant altogether.) And, typically, if there is a villain getting redeemed, there needs to be a Bigger Bad who gets put down in their stead. (Zhao was this for book 1 Zuko. Palpatine was this for Vader. Etc.)

The reason I say that just about any villain you could name (barring, again, eldritch abominations or The Literal Embodiment of Evil) is redeemable is because redemption, when boiled down to its bare essentials, is simply this: the choice to do and be better.

Every sentient being is capable of making this choice, and so that possibility exists for every fictional sentient being, too--whether or not it would make sense for their character is entirely dependent on the surrounding narrative, and also their overall character arc. There is no real ‘point of no return’ for the ability to make this choice--however, there usually is such a point for the audience’s ability to believe they reasonably would make that choice. The farther down the path of villainy the character has gone--the more harm they’ve caused, the more people they’ve killed, the more evil they’ve done--the harder it will be to accept that they would ever actually decide to change.

This can be offset, of course, by giving the villain a sympathetic backstory and reasons for their actions--cool motive, still murder will usually apply, but if you write it well enough, you can believably chronicle the villain’s journey to the side of good. Some of your audience may not think it’s enough--for some people, any villain redemption for someone who did anything worse than say some mean things to another character is ‘villain apologism’ and not to be tolerated--but if the narrative scaffolding surrounding a given villain is sturdy enough, a majority of readers/viewers will accept it.

(As a side-note, a villain redeeming themselves is not--or should not be--reliant on the people they’ve hurt forgiving them. That can also be included, of course, but just as it’s entirely in character for some villains that they just would never make the choice to be better people, it’s in character for some heroes that they cannot forgive someone once they’ve done enough harm. Everyone has a breaking point, and if you’re going to go the ‘everyone forgives and welcomes them to the hero group’ route, that will need to be set up and constructed believably as well.)

Now that I’ve rambled for ages about redemption itself, I come to the actual point of your ask: yes, I do believe Hama and (especially) Jet were redeemable, and I do believe the fact that a man complicit in war and genocide for decades was allowed, by the narrative, to choose to be a good person and do good in the world, while characters who were victims of the war helmed by that man’s family were not granted the same dignity of that potential choice.

If either Hama or Jet had their stories end differently--if Jet had been allowed to heal on his own terms, without being brainwashed into being Nice and then killed off and only referenced once in the rest of the show via an off-hand joke about his casual demise, or if there had been a line or two at the end of The Puppetmaster where Katara expressed regret for what Hama had become and perhaps hope for being able to return for her, after the war, and get her the help she desperately needed (rather than appearing content to leave her languishing in the Fire Nation prison that was the source of her trauma), then it may not have seemed so much like the narrative was saying ‘victims of trauma who do not react in appropriately pacifistic ways will be punished for their anger’. But because both of them were treated so cavalierly at the end of their respective arcs/episodes, it leaves some unfortunate implications, particularly when contrasted with Iroh’s pre-series redemption, and the way so many fans call for Azula to be redeemed because ‘she’s a traumatized 14-year-old girl’ without extending the same to the traumatized 16-year-old boy who was basically murdered on-screen.

Jet was no worse, in terms of his character and his crimes, than Azula--little miss ‘I’m gonna suggest Daddy burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground’ does not have any moral superiority to lord over anyone. Hama was no worse than Iroh, when you consider the deaths he was responsible for as a wartime general with decades of military service under his belt, nevermind the siege of Ba Sing Se that was nearly two years long. If they both could believably be redeemed--if, as Azula stans so frequently claim, she deserved a redemption arc after everything she went through--then so could Jet and Hama. And the fact that the latter did not get that treatment, but instead were figuratively (and literally, really) left to rot by the narrative, while it could be seen as a consequence of the realities of war, still has unfortunate implications when you consider the way the characters who had ‘appropriate’ responses to trauma left by the war were treated.

[ardentmuse]

Four Times Fred Weasley Proposed to You... And the One Time He Meant It (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Harry Potter - Fred Weasley x fem!Reader

Summary: The title says it all. Just read it ;)

Wordcount: 4.7k (I’m trash)

Warnings: fluff, sex, cursing - basically my holy trinity, and AU where Fred lives (which is the only universe I live in) 

Masterlist

A/N: Toddle started daycare yesterday and I learned that I churn out about 1k worlds per hour if I don’t have a kid crawling on me. Today is also my wedding anniversary for fluff felt right. A request from anon! 

I.

The candles floating high under the vaulted ceiling are the only things that don’t shake with the uproar of cheers, especially from the seventh years, that accompany Dumbledore’s announcement of return of the Triwizard Tournament. Fred bumps elbows with his twin, whom he simply knows is already conspiring to rig this thing in their favor. Fame, glory, prize money – everything they need to set themselves up for success is being presented on a golden platter – or rather in a wooden goblet. But they don’t have the opportunity to conspire before the room falls hush at the gentle lowering of Dumbledore’s willowy arms.

“Please join me in welcoming the students of Beauxbaton Academy of Magic and their headmistress Madame Maxine,” Dumbledore’s voice bellows, but to Fred it is but a whisper. The doors to the Great Hall have already opened and towards the front of the group of impressively dressed students, their jackets pristinely fitted and their skirts flared in a way that hints so nicely at the shapely things that certainly reside beneath them. Fred’s baser brain, the part that, as a sixteen year old, gives power and life to many of his higher-level functions, completely takes over. His eyes roam the group, landing on a stunning creature, third from the left whose straightened back, bright smile, and flushed face from the chill of the castle night are enough to make his mouth grow dry and his palms sweat with anticipation. 

But then you begin your dance – if it could even be called a dance. You skip forward like an elegant ballerina, your neck tall and your chest out the way a swan might look upon the lesser creatures within its pond, elegant but superior. And Fred minds not one bit being the scum that lines your lakeside domain. With light steps you descend upon the Great Hall, down the path on which he sits. And as you grow closer, you open your hands, releasing blue mist and butterflies upon the crowd, like a siren singing a song to lure in the ships at sea. 

A few more pranced steps and you are standing right beside him. He watches with baited breath as your skirts flow and twist. You lean forward with special flourish, flicking your wrists and humming in unison with your cohort. Your fingers lightly brush against Fred’s cheek as he ebbs closer in rapture. 

“Marry me,” he whispers, which draws your eyes away from the front of the hall to meet the man sitting right beside you. A simple turn of his head has his lips gently brushing against your fingertips and the piercing of his cinnamon eyes catches your breath in your chest. You miss your next step, so beguiled by this handsome man before you, broad and freckled and just the teeniest bit unobtainable in the way that confidence seems to radiate off him. 

You bite your lips as you quickly make your leave, returning to the perfectly choreographed dance that seems to have enchanted more than just the eldest Weasley twin. 

George’s elbow lands squarely in the soft space below Fred’s ribs. 

“Oi, Freddie, what the hell was that?” George asks as the room rises in applause for their new guests.

George searches Fred’s face for answers. Across from him, both Angelina and Hermione seem to be brooding in equal measure. Ron is busy picking his jaw off the floor. But for Fred, all he could do is search the room for the figure whose shape is now buried deep in his mind and whose soft fingertips he can still feel upon his lips. 

He finds you taking your seat at the Ravenclaw table beside Roger Davies, who is all too eager to move his cloak and offer you water. Something primal rises in Fred, hot bile in his gut at the sight of Davies’ hand brushing against your wrist as you turn to speak with him. But as if feeling Fred’s presence, you flick up your gaze to lock with his and almost immediate you look away. But Fred is satisfied if the way you are biting your lip and hiding so delicately behind your hat is any indication that you might be feeling the exact same electric charge between you that he is.

“I don’t know, George. I really don’t know.” 

II.

The spring sun warms the courtyard as the visiting students say their goodbyes to Hogwarts and the witches and wizards that call it home. Fred and George sit on the stone wall of the archway, overlooking the chaos of tearful hugs and exchanged promises to write, respectful handshakes and gossipy giggles. 

“So much emotion for something so simple as a goodbye,” George says as he pulls at the leaves of the bush just starting to bud beside him, “Does everyone forget we have magic? Owls, portkeys, floo networks, and the works? It’s not goodbye forever, you know?” 

Fred’s eyes scan the courtyard until he finds the top of your head standing in a circle of Beauxbaton students who are wishing farewell to their Hufflepuff friends, offering elongated hugs and whispered words of comfort to those mourning the loss of Diggory. 

You pull away from a puffy-eyed girl, handing her a notecard, which Fred assumes has your address on it, and turn your eyes up on catch him staring at you. You blush – at least he thinks you do at this distance – and turn your attention back to the young Gryffindor who has just tapped you on the shoulder. Fred closes his eyes. 

“Well, George, sometimes even a goodbye for now can be more than you’re willing to accept.” 

George looks to see Fred’s eyes still closed, his head lulled to the side in a look that can only be described as painful longing. 

“Speaking in general or personal there, dear brother? A certain French girl I caught you snogging have anything to do with—“ 

“George,” you say, interrupting their hushed conversation. George smiles almost too wickedly at your appearance. “And Fred,” you say, turning your eyes to the boy who has consumed so many of your thoughts these past few months. 

At hearing your voice, Fred’s head pops up from its angst-filled recline against the stone castle wall. The wide saucers take you in like a man dying of thirst. 

You clear your throat and move your head to take in both twins. “I just want to say that I will miss you and your laughter. You have both made my time here at Hogwarts a pleasant one.” Your smile seems forced, but Fred cannot tell why. 

“And it has been a pleasure getting to know you as well, my dearest mademoiselle,” George says in his best accent, swallowing the first “e” the way you taught him to do so precisely. “Quite the pleasure for one of us, I might say.” 

Fred turns near crimson at his brother’s coaxing and your own eyes find rest starring down at your lap. 

“Well, yes,” you stammer, knowing full well this was George’s intention but not being skilled enough to overcome its impact, “For me, too.” 

You feel a hand come under your chin, and your eyes come up to meet the very bright, but very pleased face of Fred Weasley. 

“You are a pleasure,” he says for just your ears, his thumb running across your chin as your face grows hot at his attentions. 

“You know, I’m not sure I want to go home,” you admit, looking up at the cute boy before you from under your lashes. His Adam’s Apple bobs at your minor seduction. “I have quite come to like your country.” 

“I could marry you,” he says as his hand finds the curve of your neck, “Then they couldn’t take you away. I hear Ministry visas are quite a valuable commodity these days.” 

You laugh, deep and hearty, the kind of laugh you have come to know so often as your friendship has blossomed with the twins. 

You hand a card to Fred, not a tiny index card like the kind he watch you hand your other friends, but a proper greeting card, with a beautiful calligraphed, “My Fred,” on the envelope. 

“Maybe you can write me sometime, if you want? I’d love to know how the business comes along.” 

Fred’s fingers trace the curves and bends of the ‘my’ so thoughtfully placed before his name. 

When Fred says nothing, his eyes so drawn to the paper, George pipes up with an, “Of course, love. We’ll be sure to.”

“Okay,” you whisper, but Fred’s attention is still elsewhere. With a swallow, you say, “Bye, then,” and with a tiny wave, returned by George alone, you turn on your heels and head for your carriage. 

George stares down at his brother, whose fingers have already gone to rip at the letter, to see its contents and pray that its words align with the flutter he feels in his chest right now. 

Opening the envelope releases a frill of blue dust and butterflies, scented like your shampoo, which he is ashamed to say he knows now. An index card with an address, just like the ones you gave the others sits inside, along with a note, long and eloquent about how you’ve enjoyed the time you’ve shared together, the laughter and the kisses, too, but it is the last two lines that gets him right in his throat, his heart beating faster than he can ever remember it doing before. 

“You are the sweetest man I’ve ever known, Fred Weasley, and I pray one day when I know love, it will be with someone who makes me smile, makes me think, and makes me feel as beautiful as you have in these few short months. Who knows, maybe that someone will even be you.”  

Finally, Fred hears George screaming his name, the tone of which makes it clear to him this was not the first yell. 

“What!” Fred finally screams back, his hands gripping tightly on the parchment he holds.

“You didn’t even say bye to her, mate.”

Fred whips around to see a line of soft blue suits taking the stairs into their Abraxan-drawn carriages, the boys of the school offering softly cupped hands to the girls as they ascend. Fred jumps the stone wall into the courtyard, not caring for the height of the fall and sprints through the crowds, pushing a few first year students in the process until his hand grabs yours just as you take your first steps away from Hogwarts. 

You spin around at the tug. When Fred sees your face, slightly obscured by your hat, his chest hurts at the sight of the tear lines that clearly flow down your cheeks. 

He pulls you to him quickly, catching you in his arms as you partially tumble down the stairs towards him. He kisses you before you can even recover, to the hoots and hollers of some of the younger students, which earns them the scolding of a surprisingly softhearted McGonagall. 

Fred’s lips are all pressure, as though movement might take you further away from him. He is locked in the moment, securing you to him and into his memory for as long as he may have you.

When he finally pulls away, he runs his hands along the sides of your face and your forehead, like memorizing every shape and detail.

“Goodbye, my Fred,” you say to him, you eyes still saddened, still hurt but the parting, but all the more healed for the confirmation that this is hurting Fred too.

“Goodbye for now, my princess.” 

And so you walk away, your hands lingering together as Fred does his best to help you up the stairs and into your carriage, his precious swan princess preparing for her journey home. 

A few minutes later, Fred returns to his brother, who still sits on the stone but is now holding the envelope and letter that Fred discarded in his pursuit of you. George offers a slow clap of appreciation at Fred’s grand gesture.

“Georgie, how much money do you think we have for the summer? Enough to restock and still have extra?” 

“Why are you asking?” George hands the precious parchment over to Fred for safe keeping.

Fred just stares down into his hands, at your words and your script and the remains of your magic and your scent. 

“I think I have to go to France.” 

III.

“You keep cooking like this and I’ll have to make a kept woman out of you, you know,” Fred teases as he grabs yet another of the Christmas cookies you have just pulled from the cooling racks. You swat his hand away but not quickly enough to stop him from adding another handful to the collection already lining his plate and pockets. “Trying to impress my mother with baked goods is a very good idea but completely unnecessary. She’s going to love you. She already loves you for how happy you make me.” 

“Are you sure?” you ask as you continue to turn over the cookies, packing the ones with the best looking bottoms into festive tin to take with you to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Fred’s hand grabs as your wrist as you nervously rearrange the cookies ones more, “I’m absolutely certain.” 

A few moments pass as Fred hums happily, crunching down one cookie after another before you speak up once more. “A kept woman, ye? I hope I might be more to you someday than just someone to fulfill your desires.” 

Fred’s mouth curls into a Cheshire grin as drops his plate once more against the countertop. “And what’s so wrong with fulfilling my desires? Hmmm?” 

You can’t help but smile too as you toss your oven mitts aside. 

“Nothing,” you hum absentmindedly, leaning into Fred’s game. “Other than that I have desires of my own.” 

Fred creeps around the counter, taking in your form as the aprons strings hug tightly at your waist. In one deft motion, Fred has you pinned so fiercely against the counter you worry he might actually take a bit of you instead of the desserts you have spent all morning making. 

“Well,” he whispers into the soft of your ears, sending shivers down your spin, “Make me a kept man and we can live a life filled with unending pleasures.” And with the purr of the last word, he dives down to taste the salted hollow of your neck. 

“Two kept people is just a marriage,” you manage to get out before the sweet suction upon you pulse makes you lose your breath and, with it, your composure. 

“Then married we shall be.” His lips tickle against your collarbone before making the ascent back up your neck towards your chin. “Married, happy, fat off cookies,” he says between kisses. “And drunk off desire,” he whispers, leaving a final, long, bruising kiss upon your lips. 

You are pulled from your daze by the call of George’s voice in the shop below the apartment, telling you his mother would be quite disappointed if you found yourself running late for Christmas dinner because you were too busy making her grandbabies. 

As he pulls away, Fred runs a fingertip, slow, across your bottom lip, feeling the swell his kisses put there. 

“I’m keeping you,” he says to your lips before meeting your eyes. For a moment, his look is deep with longing, but quickly he smiles and the mask of play returns to his bright features as he snatches the packaged cookies off the counter and pulls you out of the room to meet up with his twin. 

IV.

“That’s it, love,” Fred breathes into your hair as you tighten the grip of your thighs around his hips. The sweat from his brow rolls down your neck sending shivers across your already prickled skin. Fred’s arms grip at your hips, desperate and needy. You can’t help but admire the taut muscles of his shoulders, round and firm in exertion. Even now, long after all the quidditch training and regular exercise, the lines of him are still subtle perfection. 

A bite at your ear pulls your eyes away. And the rocking of his firm length deep inside you pulls your mind away, too. 

On instinct, you roll your hips to meet his needy thrusts, finding a rhythm so right that you each let out a satisfied groan. You grip tight into the shoulders you love so much, digging your chin into his neck as you work yourself against him, pulling your pleasure from him as much as he is from you.

“Merlin,” Fred breathes as he seizes your chin so he may look in your eyes. He pins your hips once more with his rough hand, pounding into you long and slow.  “You’re perfect,” he says before kissing you deeply, the action pressing your entire personage further into the mattress, all parts of him consuming you wholly.

As his hand moves from your hipbone to brush against your sex, you feel the tightening that Fred so easily can pull from you, the sweet anticipation of a cascade of relief that marks your lovemaking as something necessary. His fingers deftly work you in time with his hips and soon you are falling off that cliff with only his strong arms to catch you. 

Fred groans at the feel of your orgasm, finding his own in the sweet music your body plays for him. And as he releases himself in your depths, your body quakes once more with the pleasurable feel of it. 

Exhausted and spent, Fred lays himself upon you, chest to chest, the weight of him a welcome reminder of the real world to which your brain has just returned. 

“I can’t wait to make you my wife,” Fred says into the darkness of your bedroom.

You laugh – or at least as much as you can with his weight bearing down upon your chest. You take in his nose now resting against your shoulder, the soft freckles decorating the bridge, the pink of the creases now coated in a pleasant sheen of sweat. He pops up his eyes to meet yours in unspoken question.

“The feeling’s mutual,” you smile. You run your hands through his hair, hoping to ease the worry you feel from him. 

Fred rolls off of you to lie on his side, mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“You also can’t wait to make me your wife?”

You turn to see Fred lounging casually upon the mattress, his nudity fully on display as he shows off his body for you with a flourish. 

“Can you not resist these womanly curves?” He almost can’t keep the smile off his face. 

You lunge towards him, but he’s quicker. He hops off the bed and runs down the hallway before you can even extract yourself from the covers. The last thing you see is that cute, firm butt of his round the corner towards the kitchen. 

“Shall your wife bring you tea?” He calls in a mocking high-pitched voice from the depths of your home. You toss a pillow at the door, and as it plops, Fred laughs. 

And just as you feel the glow of your orgasm begin to subside, Fred walks through the door with two steaming cups. He sets them down on the bedside table before kneeling before you. Only then do you notice the silliness is gone from his face, replaced with the hint of nerves and raw emotion you saw only a hint of in your afterglow.

“I’m not joking, you know,” he says as he grabs at your knuckles, “I’d like to marry you someday, make this beautiful, precious thing we have permanent, assuming you want that too.” 

And with a look into those beautiful brown orbs of his, you nod. 

V.

You cling tightly to Fred’s back as his broom zooms between the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees. The castle in which you spent your formative years seems but a speck off in the distance as you direct Fred along a saddle of the range and towards the cliff face just beyond.

“There,” you point towards the gap in the trees on the north face. The rush of the wind as Fred speeds downward makes it hard to hear the beautiful crash of water you associate so much with this place. But as the trees thin, you see it – the gorgeous waterfall and crisp blue-green pools that catch its spray. 

Fred slows down his flying, weaving expertly through the forest until you come to rest upon the boulders that face the torrent of water. 

“This is it. This is where us Beauxbaton girls came for peaceful retreats. Made quite a few friends among the wood nymphs, too.” 

Fred turns to you, confused. “You find this relaxing?” He screams over the loud crash of water. 


“Trust me?” You ask as you take his hand and lead him down the winding paths deeper into the forest. He grips your fingers tightly as his boots dig into the mud you seem to navigate with an elegance that reminds him so much of how you floated into the Great Hall of Hogwarts all those years ago. 

When you finally let go of his hand, you are in a clearing covered in a canopy of trees. Steam fills the space as three pools, one flowing into the next, radiate heat outward. The water is an inviting shade of aquamarine and the stones underneath seem to glisten silver, the cleavage of them lined with some rare elements that Fred can only assume are as precious as the creature standing beside him. Your face glows with memory, like a child on Christmas filled with the possibilities of unopened boxes and mysterious smells from the oven. 

“I told you it’s beautiful,” you say, turning to the man you love, the man you are so excited to show the parts of your life he had been absent from so that he can become one with all of you. What you see when you find him again makes it clear he wants the same thing.

Fred is bent on one knee, his soft woolen jacket open revealing a pocket you hadn’t seen, and in his hands sits a beautiful ring box holding a delicate band and a single, shining diamond, even brighter for the way the blues of your hot springs cast off of it. 

“You did,” he says, his voice deeper than you are used to, like a lump somehow is already forming in his throat. But that isn’t too hard to believe, as tears are prickling at your eyes, ready to roll over before he has even spoken. The sight of this man, his handsome chiseled face and his soft, kind eyes looking so weak, so wrought with emotion, and all for you, is enough to send you into hysterics. He is perfect – your silly, brave, industrious, kind, honest, perfect Fred. And here he is, telling you without words that you are perfect, too. 

“Do you remember my first words to you?” He asks with a lift of the left corner of his lips.

“Marry me,” you whisper with a hiccup, now full-blown crying at the memory of how his lips somehow felt so right against your fingers, even though you didn’t even know his name.

“Marry me,” he breathes more to himself than you, chuckling at his own teenage silliness. He shakes his head and looks at the ground. But upon catching the glow of the ring, his eyes return to your face. “I’d like an answer now,” he says. His hand somehow instinctively finds your fingertips, the source of all the kinetic energy between you, the spark that opened the doors to a lifetime of happiness. 

You try your best to find your breath between your tears. “Yes,” you say, though you are unsure if you actually made any sound given the heaving of your chest. “Yes.” 

Fred hops into the air, his lips finding yours and his arms engulfing your body in his embrace. He showers you with kisses, your tears mingling together, no different from the moisture of the steam coating your skin.

“I love you so much,” you manage to say as you smile against his mouth.

“I love you—fuck,” Fred pulls himself from you and drops to the ground. The ring box is discarded several feet from you, dropped quickly in Fred’s desire to shower you in affection. The ring still sits inside, pretty and intact but dusted with dirt. Fred frantically wipes the ring against his coat before grabbing at your hand.

“May I?” He asks. You nod enthusiastically, enjoying the feel of the cold metal running over your knuckles, chilling your heated skin.

As Fred stares in awe at the new jewel that gilds your hand, you slowly back away from him. With a careful flick of the buttons, you drop your coat to the ground. Fred’s gaze moves to your neck where your hands now continue their slow turn and flick, opening the buttons of your blouse in the most enticing strip tease he could imagine. 

“What are you doing, woman?” He whispers, though he takes no steps to approach your still retreating form, now just inches from the edge of the water. 

“What do you think I was planning for us to do here?” You ask him. Your hands slide down the curves of your now-exposed sides, bunching the fabric of your hips. “It’s a hot spring.” You wiggle your hips just a little as you push the fabric over your rump and down your thighs. “What do you think we Beauxbaton girls did here? Painted our nails and doodled in our notebooks?” As you lift your ankles, leaving yourself completely bare – bare expect for the gorgeous ring your fiancé just placed upon your hand – you stride with slow, confident steps towards him, a swan returned to her pond, a siren seducing her sailor. 

“Do not make me picture you and a handful of beautiful French girls bathing here naked together. My heart can’t take it.” 

You now find yourself inches away from your fiancé, his eyes trying their hardest to stay trained on your face but failing miserably with each breath that lifts your chest just a little closer to his face. 

“Your heart can take plenty of things,” you moan into his ear, your entire body just an inch from touching his. “It’s taken me, hasn’t it?” 

And just as his hands comes to ghost the curve of your lower back, you flee him, jumping into the largest of the pools with a satisfying splash. 

As you come up and turn to him with your hair slicked back out of your face, Fred is already half naked, his clothing thrown haphazardly across the clearing and his belt buckle proving much more difficult than he ever imagined it would. 

“Damn it, Princess,” he says with a huff and he yanks at his jeans, “You have no idea what’s in store for you.” He flicks his eyes to you as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing the beautiful expanse of strong stomach and chest that somehow never fail to take your breath away. His eyes glint with a hint of evil and a heap of lust and you are almost ashamed at how quickly your body responds to it, his gaze heating your whole self even more than the springs already have. 

“I think I know,” you say as Fred lowers himself into the waters. 

He paddles over to you and wraps your nude form in his arms. His lips find your hands and delicately play with them, his fingers running over the smooth metal as his lips move up to your wrist. You drop your head back against the smooth rocks and allow this man you love, this man who has enchanted you for the first connection, to love your body in turn. 

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech,

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH96

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 96: Castle Cry (XXIII)

{cw: crossdressing joke}

As the phantom in the mirror revealed the fatal temptation, Mrs. Sarah looked at the mirror with empty eyes. She was possessed and cut off her nails according to her instructions. The cut nails fell to the ground. Mrs. Sarah jerked and suddenly woke up.

With a scream, she threw the mirror to the ground and shouted, "The Devil! You’re the Devil!"

There is a giggle from the mirror: "When you look in the mirror, all you see is the desire in your own heart. Don't resist it. There is already a jealous witch in your heart, and that is the real you."

Mrs. Sarah stamped on the fragments of the mirror, and the voice stopped abruptly. She fell back trembling and sat down on the bed.

"Madam, I heard your voice. What happened?" The bedroom door was knocked on and Nina's voice came.

"I have nothing to do and accidentally broke the mirror," Mrs Sarah tried to speak calmly, adjusting her skirt.

Nina opened the door, bowed, and came in to clean up the debris on the ground. Sarah watched her work and said to herself, "Johann will be back soon."

"Yes, madam," Nina responded to Sarah’s words, cleaning the broken mirror on the ground.

"He will be very happy." Sarah suddenly laughed and stroked her flat belly. "Although he’s never said it, he must like children as much as I do."

Nina let out a soft cry, and her cut finger started bleeding. She quickly put her finger in her mouth, for fear that the blood might touch the beautiful carpet. Sarah sighed: "You’re too careless. Forget it. Stop first and let others clean it up later."

"It doesn't matter, madam. I'll fix it." Nina said anxiously, her head lowered.

Sarah sat on the bed and murmured, "Will he love me more when he has a baby?"

Nina shivered and trilled: "Your husband loves you deeply."

Sarah smiled, looked ahead with empty eyes, and murmured: "Yes, he loves me, just like I love him..."

Nina, who was kneeling on the ground to clean, quietly raised her face and looked at the crazy lady quietly and painfully. She forgot that her finger was still bleeding, and a bead of blood fell from her fingertip on the colorful carpet and penetrated into the complicated patterns…

The phantom faded, and Mrs. Sarah's last words lingered in the room, repeating the lie over and over again into a sad belief. It seemed that she’d discovered John's infidelity long ago, but she didn't want to admit it. She would rather hypnotize herself over and over again until she believed it.

"It seems that this phantom is an explanation to how the crazy lady got the sacrifice method, but at this time she has not yet miscarried, and her mental state seemed to be fairly stable... Nina was a little nervous. She was really afraid that the crazy lady would go crazy," Qi Leren said, not sure how many emotions - pity, guilt, and even passing jealousy - were contained in Nina's last complicated expression…

Up to now, Qi Leren hadn't drawn a conclusion: What kind of role did Nina play?

"Hey, now that the six sacrifices have been collected, can we go to the boss fight?" Dr. Lu asked after putting away the last Devil's sacrifice.

Su He opened his pocket watch and glanced at it. "Get ready to go back to the outer world. It's almost time."

With the six bells ringing, the three people once again returned to the outer world - based off the time, this should be the last hour. After all, the task required them to leave the castle before dawn, and it was now six o'clock. Although the sun would rise late in this season, it would be dawn at seven o'clock.

"Everything has been found, and all that’s left is the hound and the crazy lady. I can think of three ways to deal with the hound for the time being, so you leave it to me." Su He closed the pocket watch, nodding to the two.

"God, I just want to have a bug in every copy. Su He and you are the real bugs!" Dr. Lu was delighted by this feeling of having everything taken care of by others.

Su He smiled implicitly. "The first method is dangerous. It comes from what Nan Lu did before. Why did she and Luo Xueyi wear the crazy lady's clothes? I’m swayed to think that this is a symbolic meaning, which means that they have assimilated with the crazy lady. So when Nan Lu called for the hound, he followed her obediently because he thought she was his master. How did it distinguish her? By recognizing her? That's obviously wrong. Nan Lu and Mrs. Sarah have very different appearances and voices; By Mrs Sarah's clothes? It's possible. If it relies on theDevil’s power..." Su He caught Qi Leren’s eye and caused his heart and soul to jump, thinking that Su He would reveal the seed in him. "Then the sacrifices we got can be used."

Dr. Lu smiled with a sloped voice: "You mean to let Qi Leren wear the crazy lady's clothes and take the Devil's sacrifice, to pretend to be Mrs. Sarah and lead the dog away?"

Qi Leren's heart was dead: "...I won't do it, I would rather die!"

"This task isn’t difficult. Dr. Lu should be competent," Su He smiled.

Qi Leren was overjoyed: "You’re the same size as Mrs. Sarah's clothes, perfect!"

"...Oh NO!" Dr. Lu screamed in horror, "I refuse!"

"It seems that there’s no way to reach an agreement. Let's talk about the second method: I also said before that the dog collar in the piano room on the second floor could be used. After picking up the collar, the hound should be attracted. There should be no problem in ambushing it. To be safe, this would require quick decision making and a miniature bomb that can be fed to it," Su He said.

Qi Leren was a little distressed. This was all in exchange for the number of survival days. Couldn’t they just not do it and only go against the crazy lady? "Is there another way?"

"Use the armor." Su He said only three words, but lit up the idea in Qi Leren.

"Yes, before when the armor and hound fought, it was completely one-sided. Maybe there’s some magical power. And the armor’s material is hard, so you don't have to worry about being bitten by the dog. This is a good idea!" Qi Leren got a little excited.

Dr. Lu whistled at the side: "You can cheat the system."

Qi Leren sneered: "Then you can do it."

Dr. Lu was a coward.

The three men went back to the stairs where the armor had been scattered. With the help of Dr. Lu and Su He, Qi Leren put this heavy metal armor on his body: "It's a bit heavy, but I can still move around. It’s more flexible than expected."

"Of course, this is originally modeled after the armor used by knights in the Middle Ages in Europe. It would be strange if you couldn't wear it," Dr. Lu said haughtily.

Su He paid more attention to it: "Do you feel any special power in this armor?"

"Well, there’s no such thing. It seems that it’s just plain armor," Qi Leren said regretfully.

Wearing the armor, he went up the stairs, and Qi Leren returned to the third floor and followed the trail of blood spread to the end of the corridor. To be on the safe side, Dr. Lu and Su He waited for him at the stairs on the third floor. Although Qi Leren was a little nervous to face the danger alone, after being tempered so many times, he was not frightened for such a battle. At most, he was a little nervous.

Where the hell was the hound?

The clang of metal armor moving sounded in his ear, every step accompanied by the sound of metal clanking, and the helmet's visual field was limited, so Qi Leren was constantly worried that he had missed some subtle movement.

Finally, when he was about to walk to the open room at the end of the corridor, the charred hound appeared from the shadows like a ghost. The castle in the world was dark and old, and the lightning outside the window lit the night sky of heavy rain again and again, which also lit up the explosive battlefield.

The hound leaned down and growled menacingly in the depths of its throat. Qi Leren wore the metal armor and held the armor’s sword in his hand, ready to stab-

Move!

The roar of the hound thundered down, and it sprang up on its hind legs and pounced towards the armor! Its figure lit by the lightning suddenly became nothing but an afterimage!

So fast! He couldn't see at all!

Qi Leren instinctively wielded the sword, slashing it down. The hound that had landed jumped up again. A slave to momentum, Qi Leren was knocked down to the ground with the heavy armor. He hastily shored up his body but forgot to take his sword, and directly swung at the hound that jumped towards him with an iron fist! His fist seemed to be endowed with incredible power. At the moment the punch met, Qi Leren felt that even the opposite wall could easily be penetrated!

The fist collided with the hound, and the hound whined as it crashed into the opposite wall and fell to the ground.

Good opportunity! The fallen Qi Leren wanted to get up and make up for the blow, but the heavy armor limited his movement. Struggling, he rose to his feet, picked up the long sword on the ground, and stabbed it through the hound's body.

The burnt body of the hound exploded, and the flames swept over its body instantly, burning through it and leaving no ashes.

This time it had gone well. Qi Leren got up from the ground slowly, took off his helmet, and let out a sigh of relief.

Although the hound’s speed was much faster than during the last encounter with it, thanks to this armor, he was not bitten. The battle ended quickly enough, and the degree of fright was greatly reduced, which made Qi Leren very satisfied.

Su He came over with Dr. Lu, and Dr. Lu was surprised: "How fast!"

"That's a given," Qi Leren said, pretending to be calm and trying to show his superior demeanor.

"Qi Leren is very powerful," Su He praised, his eyes curving with a gentle smile. 

Being praised so sincerely, or being praised by a person who was far superior to him, Qi Leren was very flustered. What was even more embarrassing was that Dr. Lu's eyes were wrong…

"Well, the crazy lady didn't show up after the hound was killed. It seems that the worst situation you said won’t happen," Qi Leren quickly changed the subject.

Before the fight, Su He had put forth various possibilities. The most troublesome one was that hatred was shared between the hound and the crazy lady. Once the hound was attacked, the crazy lady would appear, and it would be a lot of trouble to deal with it. However, according to the difficulty of the copy, it was unlikely.

Fortunately, this kind of situation didn’t happen. Otherwise, Qi Leren who was wearing heavy armor would be bound to have a hard time dealing with the crazy lady. Although Su He promised that he would step in if this happened, Qi Leren still hoped to solve the task by himself. This relatively safe exercise opportunity was really too precious.

Take off your armor, bring your weapons, take Luo Xueyi's ashes, and prepare the Devil's sacrifice. Qi Leren glanced at the small staircase at the end of the corridor, which led to the rooftop garden on the top floor.

There, a grand battle was about to start.

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The author has something to say:

PS: However, the witty Dr. Lu has seen through everything: my (copy) boyfriend is always entangled with men, he really is a gay  ╮ (╯ ▽ ╰) ╭ ↑ Crazy lady on standby: What a mess your circle is

I wish you all a happy Valentine's Day. I will reply to the messages first, and if there are any omissions, I will reply tomorrow :-D

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Editor’s Notes: The cw at the top of this chapter brings a good opportunity for me to mention something not so nice that I’ve been worrying about: 

While it’s not very present in this installment of the trilogy, once we get into Nightmare Game II there does start to be somewhat prominent issues of transmisogyny in this series. I’m using my own discretion to edit out any slurs the mtl gives me (especially since I don’t know the specific connotations of the words used in the Chinese), but I don’t think it’s my place as a someone only invovled in translation to completely take out or greatly alter a portion of the original text. 

As we are now moving towards the climax of Nightmare Game I, I feel that it’s best for me to mention this early so that people who do not want to continue reading something with transmisognistic content have the opportunity to drop it if they wish before they get too emotionally invested in the series. I do apologize for not mentioning this earler. Once we reach those scenes, I will be sure to include warnings whenever relevant. 

If you have any further questions or worries about this (or anything else), I encourage you to message me. I would like for people to be able to enjoy this series to the greatest degree possible, even despite the issues present in it.

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[mymegumi]

GLORY

pairing: suna rintarou x gn!reader

summary: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of god

genre: far cry five au, enemies to not-quite lovers, darker themes, villain au. tbh not really a ship fic </3

word count: 3.7k

warnings: heavy talk of religion, cults, cultish manipulation, dubious morality, use of guns, bad characters, haikyuu!! characters portrayed as villains, fake drugs, mentions of abuse, torture, injuries, implied noncon drug use and swearing

notes: i want to preface this by saying this is much darker than the content i normally write. it is not my normal content, and i am hopeful that i tagged everything properly; please tell me if i didn’t! also i dipped a bit into a character study of the main character’s fetch quest idea, in which you do all the work that other’s in game easily could! nonetheless, if you still wanna read—i hope you enjoy!

Hope’s County was a desolate piece of shit.

It was filled to the brim with cultists that seemed to think the Coming was approaching, in which the Lord would cast down those who did not repent for their sins. Truthfully, you weren’t even all that religious, but finding out about the self-proclaimed Sin family had turned you off to the idea even more, turning your back on the faith of a warped version of Christianity to instead focus on your job.

Called into the deteriorating county, you were a simple deputy—a rookie with barely a few years of work under your belt. You weren’t too keen on your police work, often finding the job as systematically fucked as the government officials that decided to turn a blind eye to the Sin family since the youngest of the bunch had more money to wave around than you did to pay your monthly rent.

“Rook,” an unfortunate nickname that’d stuck around against your protestations, your superior—Daichi was nice, if not a bit too optimistic—called out to you, waving you over to the map of Hope’s County, red marker furiously drawn all over, “you’re still new: y’remember what I told you about Suna?”

“Second oldest of the brothers, he’s considered the least of a threat due to the fact he’s often working in the Bliss fields.” You poke your head out the window a bit, eyes searching over the high reaching tops of ficus trees, “It’s not really known if he ingests the drug and experiences the hallucination of his followers, but it can be assumed that he doesn’t, to maintain the power over those that do.”

Daichi nods his approval at you, and you feel a flare of resentment somewhere deep in your belly. You try not to, really you do, you’re a good person who’s good at your job, and sometimes you go to church when it’s Easter, but in the same breath, you don’t remember the last time you’d ever even considered confessing your so-called sins to a Father.

The number one sin on your list, so Atsumu had taunted to you as he held a knife to your throat, was apparently Pride—too prideful of your supposed Savior of Hope’s County title you’d been given, pride thrummed in your veins after every member of his Father’s cult you wiped out. You don’t really remember what had happened after that, vaguely that his younger twin brother had to all but pry him off of you, reminding the blond of their Father’s purpose for you.

It was the only reason you were still alive, the Father’s so-called purpose for you—the fact he saw in his visions a future where you were a key piece, the final chess piece moving to keep a king in check. Even despite the list of sins Atsumu insisted that you followed, pride seemingly the one that harbored the most space in your person.

You, however, knew what your sin was. It flared red and angry whenever Daichi talked down to you as if your some odd years in the force were wiped clean, and you were a true rookie yet again, no smarter than a civilian to the dark ways the world worked. It made heat run through your body whenever Kita, the Father of the Sin family, called you his greatest masterpiece as if he had any say in the way you were slowly turning into a war machine—plowing through his followers with scary ease and accuracy.

Your greatest sin reared its head whenever you faced Suna, too laid back, too uncaring, and the antithesis of everything that you stood for.

Wrath, you learned, made your hands shake when he smiled at you, edges looping as if the Bliss he grew just poured from every pore of his body.

“Not that one can really want to ingest bliss,” Daichi murmurs into his palm a bit, leaning over his map of Hope’s County, “It’s more you get too close to it and the fumes of it will get you.”

Bliss was, just as the Sin family was, something you’d never even come close to encountering before. It was a drug that they’d found, or crossbred, and it had hallucinogenic effects on whoever inhaled the product it released.

Batches of it were found all over the county, but the root of the source was in Suna’s valley of the land, affectionately known as Heaven Valley by those who couldn’t remember the name, or didn’t try to. You’d seen more than one group of people in hazmat suits having to clear out fields of it, and just watching them made your head dip and spin with the would-be effects if you’d gone any closer than you already were.

Bush of full, green leaves with seemingly innocent white flowers on it, the plant itself was harmless, and yet when allowed to convert carbon dioxide, it made a lethal gas that made anyone who got too close go mad. It was said that the family had even begun experimenting with grinding it into a powder or melting it down to its liquid state.

“Bunch of fucking crazies,” You mutter the words to yourself long after you’d left the solace of Daichi’s office, somewhere out in the valley and far out of earshot of anyone that might wonder which group of people you were referring to—the ones producing cult members at a daily rate that was intensely concerning, or the ones trying to stop them, “God, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Hey, there, Dep, hope you’re tuned into my channel,” You could honestly groan, but you’re trying to make sure no one finds you on your perch in a tree somewhere, your 308 carbine’s scope not exactly focused on anything in particular, but at the ready. Suna’s voice is light and airy over the radio attached to your hip, though the sound is tuned to the earpiece you’re wearing, “Just wanted to let you know that ‘Tsumu’s missing you an awful lot. Says you left before he could have his fun, won’t stop pouting about it.”

You’re smarter than answering to a taunt that Suna sets out in front of you, and yet you can’t help but feel as if your lack of an answer is him winning. Maybe his so-called brother was right about the sin he’d tried carving into the flesh of your abdomen.

“You’d look real funny if I hadn’t picked up just now, Suna,” you whisper, eyes straying from the scope to the button that’s meant to be an answer to the other person on the line.

Suna’s laugh is a little grainy on the radio channel, but it’s not taunting like it usually is, joy written into the edges of his laugh, “And yet you’re on the other end of the line, answering me, dear Deputy. So who really looks funny in the end, hm?”

Fuck. The brunet had caught you, the lure of an unanswered challenge too much for you to pass up for your pride, a sin in and of itself. Maybe you should offer yourself up to Osamu and Atsumu again to get pride carved into your skin because apparently, your wrath wasn’t enough.

“Touché,” You start to climb down from the tree, slinging the gun over your shoulder as you huff into the receiver of the microphone. Your feet catch in the knots of the tree, and your hands start to blister a bit when you lose your footing, and yet Suna stays silent on the radio.

“Going silent on me, what was the point of the call—just to talk about your brother’s unfortunate hobbies with me?”

“Can’t a guy call out into the void and not expect someone to respond?” His smile is almost palpable over the radio call, however many times he flickers in and out of the call, “You’re always welcome to come visit my cabin, Dep.”

“Not in a million years,” feet now firmly planted on the ground, you have to right yourself a bit in orientation before you head towards the ATV you’d taken out to this part of the woods.

“I wouldn’t say that so definitely.”

Suna, of the Sin family, was often on the radio with you. He wasn’t always talking directly to you, no, sometimes he was just talking about idle parts of his day and there was a part of you that wondered if there was a part of him that just needed someone to talk to.

You always had to push the thoughts aside, however, tucking them somewhere deep into your chest so you wouldn’t sympathize with him. He was the cause for the murder of a multitude of people in Hope’s County, the root of the drug trade that went outside of the otherwise isolated county, and sometimes the despite it all, you sympathized with the man.

The Sin family was notorious in Hope’s County as not only being the leading members of the cult but because of their immigration status. Cast out of Japan in their early teens for following a faith so incorrectly, they found solace in the soil of a town in need of a direction, no matter how far off the beaten path it would take its members.

Kita Shinsuke, also known as the Father by those following their twisted version of Christianity, was the head of the operations. A prophet of fallacies or of forthcoming events, no one truly knew, and yet he claimed the words of God followed him in his sleep, that he couldn’t leave the Lord’s words unanswered.

The next of the group was often on his own, Ojiro Aran an isolated member of the family that preferred to stay in his section of the woods, away from the chaos that seemed to follow the youngest members of their little family. Ojiro was often known as the zookeeper, both for keeping the rowdy Osamu and Atsumu in line, while also because of his secondary role in the family—the trainer and breeder of wolves that were often used as indicators of one’s faith.

The Miya twins seemed to cause the most upfront issues for the Hope County Police Department, causing more than one silo to explode on the otherwise neutral farmlands. They seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, with their sins written on their bodies as if the Lord would accept their souls, rather than just their vessels. Sloth was scrawled across the younger of the two’s chest, with a matching Pride across the other’s, letters both a bit off-kilter.

The final member, of which enjoyed causing you, personally, the most trouble, was Suna Rintarou, genius beyond words and yet lazy beyond belief. For what he lacked in motivation, he made up for in creative and almost barbaric forms of punishment. His words were sharp around the edges, and yet they made everyone listen to the sermons he preached, like a moth drawn to the flame.

“My dear, sweet Rook, you seem to forget that this territory is mine,” you ignore the way he inflicts his claim on the land you’ve no right being on, and yet it sends something akin to fear down the lines of your spine, “You walk among these trees as if you’re hidden, and yet I always know where you are.”

“Sounds less like you know your territory,” you start, always willing to put up a fight with the brunet you’d not seen in at least a week, at this point, “and more like you’re stalking me—got a crush, Rintarou?”

“More like an infatuation,” his voice is just a purr, too velvety to just be jest, and yet there’s a part of you that knows you can’t trust a word this man says, “take what you want from that, darling, I’m not the one going to be thinking about it all night.”

Perhaps Atsumu had gotten your sin wrong, and perhaps there was a second option he’d never even considered—your human nature was multifaceted and ever-changing, and perhaps your sins were available in multitudes, rather than a singularity.

If he catches you again, you’d love to see his reaction to you saying you’d be willing to let him carve lust into your skin with his knife—love it even more if he asked who it was for.

Suna doesn’t say much more after that, just his usual spiel of the fact you need to atone for your sins, and that Osamu’s always willing to wash them from your skin in the river. You forget to mention your latest one isn’t one so easily erased from your skin, too deeply embedded in your bones, and you wear it like a second skin at this point.

That’s why you struggle, sometimes, against the Sin brothers and their outlandish claims of paradise meant for those who atone. You struggle because you know the weight of each sin you’ve ever committed—a book added to an already overflowing backpack of crimes against God.

Suna Rintarou, most of all, makes your blood simmer white-hot with unbridled rage—yet you’re not even sure why. It might be the lackadaisical smile that’s ever-present on his face, edges sloping and curving over his face as he taunts you, knives glinting in the sunlight of day. It might even be the way you want to press as close to him as possible, and run as far away from him as possible at the same time—ever the perfect contradiction, a paradox of which you’ve been unable to solve for your time at Hope’s County.

Perhaps the Sin family is right in the unmaking of the world, but your only proof is that God smites you by making Suna one of the most undeniably attractive men you’ve ever met.

Confident in a way that carries in the gait of his walk, and the way his shoulders settle on his frame, Suna knows that he’s got his claws deep in your skin—gripping you to keep you at a distance, and yet not letting you get any further away from him. As if you’d let him get away, your hands would be wrapped around the column of his neck—intent to kill or to offer pleasure, you’d just have to decide when the time came.

“Howdy, stranger.”

These woods must twist your sense of mind, pushing and pulling at the seams of your existence and the fabric that makes the foundation of your realities—the air must be contaminated. You’re not where you thought you were going: you’d been headed towards the Miyas’ territory with the sole purpose of destroying the sin of wrath that had been crawling its way up your throat, trying to escape at any chance.

Yet, you’ve ended up in Heaven’s Valley, and straight into Suna’s hand.

He stands before you, hands tucked into a pair of dark beige cargo pants with a loose leather vest as his only top, smooth skin covered in scars and tattoos on full display. For all that Atsumu spewed of repenting for your sins, confessions meant to be curled into skin with a blade, you had to admit that he was one hell of a tattoo artist.

Suna’s tattoos were unlike the harsh angles of Osamu’s, forgoing the looping script of the English language for the smooth strokes of Japanese. It was a harsh juxtaposition to the jagged letters of ‘greed’ splayed across the expanse of his lower belly, the bottom of the ‘g’ dipping underneath the waistband of his pants.

“Rintarou, what a surprise.” Your words slur a bit at the edges, and you’re not sure if it’s just from stepping into his land or being in his presence, but there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that Bliss dances in your system, “Can’t say I’m disappointed to see you.”

“How honest, sweet one,” his smile resembles a wolf, you come to the conclusion because despite the Sin family being described as a pack of foxes, there’s a carnal look in his eyes as he stares at you, “I like when you’re honest with me.”

“I like when you don’t shoot me on sight,” you vaguely remember a pistol at your hip, your carbine left behind in favor of a shotgun, “makes our little talks seem more personal.”

His laugh is clear, a bell in the fog that is your mind, “Do I often shoot at you, sweet one, for I believe it’s you that shoots first.”

“Mm,” you let your eyes flicker to his before you feel a crease form between your brows, “you still shoot back.”

“I never let a favor go unpaid, darling.” He’s closer to you now, a hand sliding along the curve of your arm, before resting just above your pulse point. His hand is warm, opposite of the cooling night air, “Yet you’ve done a favor for me I’ve not yet given anything in return for.”

“What?”

Your confusion is palpable even without your verbal input because Suna’s thumb is smoothing it away from your brow with his free hand. His eyes are darker now with the sun down, only the moonlight illuminating the outline of his face and there’s something about the sight that makes your skin rise, goosebumps lining your arms.

“Deputy,” the moniker is like a velvety purr against the exposed skin of your nape, “I’m a bit hurt that you don’t remember our very first meeting. It holds such a sweet spot in my heart, so for you to forget it cuts me deep to my core.”

You wrack your brain trying to remember the first time you’d met Suna, all those days ago at the beginning of the summer, when you’d been unscarred and unafraid of your allegiances. There was still a hopeful part of you, then, that had been so sure you could be the savior of these people.

“I don’t…” your voice trails off as you watch Suna walk back in front of you, his face calm as you worry at your bottom lip.

“Of course not,” a knife flickers in his hand, the silver blade gleaming in the pale light of the moon, “you were much too blissed out to remember, but there was information you provided that proved most useful.”

His hands trail along your arms, leaving goosebumps in his wake as you lean closer to him, drawn in as if connected by an invisible string. Suna’s leaned in closer now, close enough that you can feel his exhales fanning across your face gently; can see when his eyes flicker and dance on the lines of your features.

“Pretty little thing, too pretty to be fighting a war you never signed up for,” he muses softly as the back of his hand eases across your cheek, “my darling deputy, you told me you wished for an escape from the pressures, the responsibilities that the locals had forced upon you. You are but a single piece, yet you’re burdened with the work of a hundred pawns.”

You take a shuddering breath in, and you let the tension leave your body that had settled along the weight of your shoulders as soon as Suna let his presence be known. You let the need to shoot him rest, because despite this man being the suffering and cause of so many downfalls—he understood.

He understood your wrath, the feeling of it tingling in your fingertips whenever Daichi asked you to do a job that could easily be done by someone else. You were just a person who’d stumbled into Hope’s County at a precipice of change—down on your luck and thrust into a job and title that made you feel like an imposter. He knew your fists clenched whenever another civilian came to you, begging you to save their farm when indeed, it would do nothing in the end for the resistance.

Maybe he knew that underneath every mundane task that you helped others with, there was a vexation that ran along the lengths of your body at their inability to do things on their own. You loved the citizens of this county, you swore to protect them when you became a member of the police force, and yet an undeniable thrum of rage would flood your body when they leaned on you more than the other members of the resistance.

How lovely it was that someone else understood you, even if it was Suna Rintarou.

Why were you fighting them so hard? Your mind supplies this thought too easily, like shrugging on a hoodie on a cold night, and it flits around your brain and fills in the empty spaces that Suna keeps tearing in your psyche.

You remember the end of the sermon that Kita had spoken when you first went to arrest him, all those months ago when the summer was licking at spring’s heels. He’d been haloed in the rays of the evening sun that filtered into the partially broken down church, hands spread with a rosary wrapped tightly against his left hand.

“For all have sinned,” he had spoken softly, eyes locking with yours as soon as the doors opened, and you felt panic strike you still, Daichi pressing on your shoulder to make you continue walking, “and fall short of the glory of God.”

If you were a sinner already falling from His good graces, why not enter hell with a list of sins that made the Devil take a breath in? Were you not already marked for damnation—what good would siding with Suna Rintarou and his family of fucked up prophets do for you?

“Rintarou,” his name leaves your mouth breathlessly, “if I’m going to hell, I’m going to drag you and your family with me.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t quite place your finger on, and yet the feeling it gives you runs along your spine with a chill, “You’re making a mistake. My family and I will find you, no matter where you are, and no matter what trouble you kick up.”

You press a kiss along the curve of his jaw, not missing the way his hands clench at his sides, “Then come catch me.”

There’s a part of you that hates that Atsumu was right because pride sinks into your bones with the fact that you leave with the last word. The last laugh is yours as you leave Suna in the dust of your exit, not knowing if there was another way it could have ended, if you’d just taken the hand he’d extended to you.

t.list — @nekomabvc

[ominouslyqueer]

The doll was a bit of an oddity among the daycare employees. The kids loved it, which in and of itself could be considered odd, but then again kids will latch on to the weirdest, creepiest things with ease, their minds not yet filled with horror stories about dolls with sunken eyes and faded skin, who seem to stare as you walk around the room. They just saw a vessel to play, and its looks didn't really factor in too much, especially at that age. Kids are going to be kids, and so they don't notice when the employees avoid touching the doll, or being in the same room if they can help it.

It's of little surprise that the employees are not so welcoming to the doll. If it weren't for the fact that the kids adored it (and that had led to several talks about sharing when that love caused conflicts on whose turn it was), they'd have chucked it a long time ago.A few of the oldest employees remembered when it arrived, in its own box among the several that came from the big, old house up on the hill.

Apparently it was passed down from one child to the next, until family line died out and it was left sitting on an empty bed, found by a distant cousin who came to collect their inheritance. The toys were boxed up, the more antique ones sold, and the rest sent to the local daycare where they could be enjoyed once more. Most were a hit, but the doll was special, seeming to connect with every child in a way that drove many to tears when they had to leave her at the end of the day. Another factor that led the employees to do little beyond sitting her in her designated corner during cleanup before doing their best to ignore her completely.

Of course, there would have to be more to explain their feelings for the doll, that for many only barely fell below true fear. The doll possessed many qualities about it, watching eyes, an uneasy grin, hair that no matter what would always end up back in the neat, tight braid. But this was not enough to unsettle them, no, that would be what happened during the night. Because no matter what the doll underwent during the day, the rough play causing lost arms or legs, chunks or hair or even once the button eyes, by the following morning she would once more be in her pristine, creepy glory. At one point they had tried to take her from the building, but again she had appeared, the employee who had taken her home confused and unwilling to even touch her again after that.

They had been worried for the kids, keeping an eye out for anything strange. They had come to the conclusion that some form of spirit was present, and the more religious ones worried that it could be demonic. At one point they had tried an exorcism even, but the same things kept occurring anyways.

The kids didn't notice anything amiss, just continuing to play with her until her fabric skin was worn right through and her stuffing spread across the floor, only to wind up all in one piece the next morning. She never seemed to do anything to the kids themselves, and no parent ever complained of nightmares or whatever other influences such a presence may have had. So, the majority of them decided that whatever was present was simply benign, and for whatever reason wished to spend their eternity with the chaos that is a room full of toddlers. The few who truly feared her managed to ignore her, though their hands were never far from any religious or spiritual items for protection.

That day hadn't been unusual in any way. The kids arrived, bringing with them their endless energy and desire for play. There were laughs, cries, tears, snacks, a single full-on breakdown from a particularly upset kid, and a thoroughly exhausted set of employees by the time the kids went home. That day had had a senior employee and two juniors, who were waved away by their superior when time to clean up. He enjoyed the calmness that followed the storm of children leaving the building, and cleaning was always more of a ritual than a chore. He wouldn't do it every night, but at least once a week he would take the chance to simply go about his duties alone, taking the time and care that showed just how long he had been doing this.

He was one of the oldest employees there, having arrived just after the infamous doll herself. He had quickly become a favorite, always calm and collected around the kids, but always quick with a smile or a joke for anyone who wanted to hear it. He had had many opportunities to rise above his role as caretaker, but he liked his job, and so he stayed put. He'd even met his wife here, one of the kids' mothers who laughed at even the worst of his jokes. It had helped that her daughter had loved him already from meeting with him each day. Now, she was entering college, and he was where he always was.

Slowly but surely, he makes his way through the small building. He cleans up the kitchen, the bathroom and the lobby, picking his way through the building as he wipes up spills and puts away books and toys. He clears up the yard outside, making sure the fence is still latched tightly shut. Once a child had managed to slip through, and it had been a stressful half hour before he had been found, playing under a tree calmly with the doll. He told them she had said to stay put before he ran further, and so he did. That itself had caused some more worries and weird feelings about the toy, but since it seemed she had been helpful overall, nothing more was said.

He enters the toy room last, always the final part of his cleaning routine. Immediately his eyes are drawn to her. She made it through the day mostly intact, the only flaw a small rip in her left leg. He cleans up the other toys, before moving to her, delicately picking up the small bits of stuffing that had fallen to the floor before lifting her too. He sits at the desk, the only adult-sized piece of furniture in the room, and sits her down on top of it so she's facing him. Carefully, he starts poking the stuffing back into her leg, a soft smile on his face as he does.

"It wasn't too bad again today. This bunch seem to be learning for the most part to be more careful."

For a moment his words just hang in the air, only silence answering him. He doesn't worry though, content to wait as he continues his work. It's about half a minute later when, between one blink and the next, there's a woman leaning on the desk besides him. She's tall, though barely taller than he is, a fact that he pointed out to her countless times. At first glance she seemed solid, but he knew how to catch the slight wavering of her form, as though her hold on this plane was slightly wavering.

He didn't look up, focusing still on making sure that all the pieces were returned to their proper place, but he knew if he did he'd be met with a smiling face and sparkling brown eyes that seemed far too alive to be a part of the spirit they were attached to. A small laugh rings out from beside him, and he lets his smile broaden until its a full grin.

"Well they always do once they've been here long enough. I've no doubt you have some influence in that."

Her voice is warm, matching her gaze as he finally turns to meet it. Her hair is in the usual braid, the silvering brown curling down her back. She's about fifty, dressed in jeans and a flowery blouse that flows around her, moved by a wind he cannot feel. She is lit from within with a blue glow, the only thing that truly marks her as otherworldly. Still, he is surprised at just how human she looks, and that thought lets him return his eyes to the work at hand.

"Well someone needs to teach them. Not everything in this world is as forgiving as you are when they play too roughly." He reaches into the drawer beside him, where his faithful sewing kit lays waiting. He picks a needle and thread, and begins sewing shut the small tear. Any trace of it will be gone by morning of course, but he hopes that doing this will at least help at reducing the amount of energy required to make that happen.

She lays a hand on his shoulder, though as always he barely feels the touch. Still, he doesn't hesitate to cover it with his own, feeling as though at any second his hand will fall through hers. It holds steady though, and they smile at each other.

"You are always so good to them, a fact that I have always loved. David seems to have especially been taken with you this year, the boy follows you around like a lost duckling. I'm pretty sure he's trying to copy your every move."

"Well I don't mind it much, he's a nice kid. It helps that he's never been too rough with you, or any of the other toys." Taking back his hand, he quickly finishes off the stitches, tying the red thread tight. He makes sure the doll is still stable in its sitting position, before standing up, moving to lean besides her. It makes talking easier, and even if he excuses it with complaints about stiff knees from sitting too long, he likes being able to talk to her again face-to-face.

"Well you can't hold it against them if they cause a few tears or scrapes, be it on us or themselves. They're kids, they are going to learn the way they learn most things, through clumsy and dedicated experiments with the world and all that's in it." She laughs, the sound floating throughout the room. "Do you remember that one girl, Emma? She was so curious about how everything was built, and every piece that went into it. I thought you were going to cry when you found her after she'd pulled every piece of me apart. I think that was the sternest you've ever been with anyone."

"Well I certainly didn't want that happening again, though I know you don't mind. It was more just letting her know that she shouldn't do that with other people's possessions that being upset with her for doing it at all." He shrugged. "I spoke with her parents too, and they were sure to supply her with a surplus of toys specifically to pull apart to keep her happy."

"Of course you did, I'm not surprised."

He feels his face heat up at her words, as well as the overwhelmingly soft look on her face. She reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, and even if it's barely there he leans into it.

"You always did your best to make sure everyone was happy and safe."

Pulling the hand away after a moment, she seems content to simply sit in silence, the two of them just enjoying being together. It is only when he is once again reminded of the constant question in his mind that he finds himself speaking once more, the calm night giving him the push that he'd needed to give voice to it.

"Why have you stayed, all these years? It takes so much of your energy to fix yourself almost every night, and at times you seem so tired that it is hard to watch. So... why?"

She doesn't answer right away, though his question clearly doesn't surprise her. She seems to mull over his words, picking the right ones to say in response. Finally, she sighs, the sound happy and calm as she meets his eyes once more.

"The children... they feel so strongly, you know? The happiness, sadness, anger, fear, it's all so new to them so when it happens it encompasses all that they are. Either the world is wonderful, or it's terrifying, and there's no in between. The way that they love is exactly that." She runs a hand through her hair, the few that had fallen free from her braid tangling slightly around her fingers.

"They love with everything that they are, and even if that love comes with tears and worn through holes and lost eyes I find that I can't just leave it behind. I was broken when Alison and I found out children weren't in our future, but being around the kids here, it helps. It's fixing the hole that's existed within me for as long as I can remember. Maybe one day it will be enough, and I will be able to move on. But for now... I find I don't want to go."

She seems lost in thought for a time, and he just leaves her to it, his own mind taking in all she had told him. He's drawn out of it when she nudges him in the side, the melancholy look that had taken over her face while she spoke replaced with the usual soft smile.

"Of course, you being here helps." She ruffles his hair, despite his half-hearted protests. "It always has, you know that."

"Doesn't hurt to hear it though." He jokes, pushing the wayward curls back into some form of order.

She grins, though it fades after a moment and she seems to hesitate. When the words do come, he's surprised by the trepidation that lines her tone, as though she is unsure whether she wants to know the answer.

"Erik, I feel like I should ask you the same thing. You have a life, unlike some, and there are so many things you could be doing with it. I know you love the children here as much as I do, but to stay here for all these years? Why?" Her voice wavers near the end, and though they do not fall he can see her eyes are bright with tears. He quickly reaches for her hand, enfolding it in between his as he ducks his head to catch her gaze from where she had averted it. It's only when she's looking at him that he answers, trying to fill his voice with all the love he felt for her in that moment.

"Well, part of it is as you said. I love the kids, and everyone here, they make my days so full of joy and laughter. But," He pauses, making sure she's listening. "A big part of why I came here in the first place is you, you know. I chose to make my life here because you wanted to stay."

She opens her mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but he lifts a hand to stop her.

"That doesn't mean I was forced to, or that you are holding me back from the life I could have had. I love it here, and I love you, and I chose to make my life into what it is now. Maybe I could be somewhere else, doing something that isn't this. But even if that would have made me happy, it doesn't change the fact that I am already so happy here, with you, and with the kids." He sighs, looking down at their joined hands. "Maisie and I talked long and hard about all of this, you know that. The finances are stable and Bea is nice and happy at her school. Especially now that she's all grown, I love the time that I spend here, the kids fill my life with purpose, and the fact that you're here too just makes that purpose even greater."

Now the tears do fall, slightly glowing as they roll down her cheeks, and she lets go of his hands only to throw her arms around him. He welcomes the embrace, happy to just let her cry.

Though she had had no children of her own, no one to give the doll that had been given to her by her own mother, she had doted on him growing up. His mother and her were closer than sisters, though not related by blood, and he had grown up running through the old halls of the house up on the hill. When she had passed, he had been heartbroken, which was made worse when he discovered that the doll that had meant the world to her had just been given away by the distant cousin who now owned the home.

He had worked hard to track it down, but when he had found her he had learned of how happy she made the kids. So, instead of taking her away, he decided instead to stay. It had only taken a week for him to discover she wasn't actually gone, having nearly passed out from shock when she first appeared to him one night when he was the only one left in the building. However, that shock quickly turned to joy, and having discovered the true passion he felt towards his new life's path, he had settled quite happily into the routine they had held for the past few decades.

He was as unwilling to leave her as she was to leave the kids, and it wouldn't shock him if when his time came, he joined her until the both of them could move on together. He had discussed the matter with his dear Maisie, and she had simply laughed, telling him she'd known that from the moment he had told her about the truth of the doll. Quite a remarkable woman, his wife, and he couldn't wait until the time came when he could finally introduce the two of them, even if it wasn't in this world. For now, Maisie seemed content to simply hear his stories, knowing that the time would come when she could speak to the remarkable woman who was such a major part of his life.

Now though, he simply holds her, in the quiet hours of the night when no one else was near. Curling her braid around his fingers, the way he had as a child, he murmurs a few words more, barely enough to be heard but ringing with their sincerity all the same.

"You're stuck with me, Aunt Helena. Forever and always."

[volkswagonblues]

I wish you would write a fic about piandao and jeong jeong, like just anything about them but i'd read the SHIT out of the modern au you told me about where they bicker about politics

SO. This is the WORST time to be writing 1.5k of fiction about a modern (well, 90′s) AU starring two dudes who have never even spoken to each other in canon, but uh, the world is awful and I consider creating rarepair content a form of self-care, so here we go.

The context for this is of course, JJ is second-generation Korean-American from LA, Piandao is a foreign student from Taiwan pursuing a doctorate in the US. The year is 1993 and ideas about race, activism, the term “Asian-American” are all up in the air. We are one year post the ‘92 L.A. race riots and four years away from antiretroviral therapy becoming the new treatment standard for HIV. The AIDS crisis is in full swing, as it has been since the 80′s. Welcome to America.

--

“Jujube”

The week after his appendectomy, Piandao is up and moving around by the end of the third day, a full four days ahead of schedule. His shoulder aches, the scar on his stomach hurts, but still, he is up and moving, even though Jeong Jeong rolls his eyes when he catches him walking up and down the length of his bedroom, working the muscles that are suffering more from being bed-bound than from surgery. 

Jeong Jeong, underneath the surly exterior, is a surprisingly maternal caretaker. Piandao has no appetite for anything flavourful in the first few days, which the nurses said was normal. So for every meal since he’s back from the hospital, Jeong Jeong cooks him a bowl of porridge and does it with a degree of care that Piandao honestly did not know he possessed. Piandao wouldn’t have minded just plain white rice and water, but Jeong Jeong, in his typical Jeong Jeong-fashion, disagreed. He spends a long time in Piandao’s kitchen every morning, making what he claims is the superior (ie, Korean) juk that his mother makes, but is really exactly similar to the zhou Piandao is used to back home, only it’s made by an angry Korean man swearing at the morning cable news, taking only occasional breaks to bemoan the sad state of Asian grocery stores in Midwest college towns.

“I’m feeling well enough to cook,” Piandao says on the morning of his fourth day home. “JJ, relax. You don’t have to do everything around here.”

Jeong Jeong looks up from his work: crushing sesame seeds in a plastic bag with the back of a soup spoon. “Shut the fuck up,” he says easily.

“I can at least wash the dishes—“

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bill Ritter.”

Piandao looks at the television in the corner. A news show was on, some Sunday morning thing he doesn’t remember seeing before. Currently, it was showing them three glossy-looking American hosts sitting on glossy-looking American couches. A man in a beige suit was saying something very earnest about the President and Haiti and also taxes. Piandao guesses that he’s Bill Ritter.

“Fucking Clinton already retracting on his fucking word,” Jeong Jeong mutters, then smashes the spoon down with ferocious force; in their plastic bag, the sesame seeds die and ascend to paste in an instant.

Piandao bites back a smile. He switches the channel: ads now, more glossy Americans driving glossy American cars, big and square. The ad changes: a family of four arriving at a motel, everything even bigger and squarer than the previous one. The mother in a big square jacket; the father smile with big square teeth. The kids chatter in excited tones: We’re so happy to be at Holiday Inn Express! Then Piandao hits the off button, and the American family disappears; the screen puckers up into dark silence again.

He slowly feels his way into the kitchen instead. He rather watch Jeong Jeong cook.

On the stove, the porridge bubbles. Jeong Jeong adds the pounded sesame and gives it a stir, then adds more sugar, then milk. He ladles it into two bowls and brings it over to the kitchen table, which is also the living room table, which is also Piandao’s desk where he grades students’ lab reports and corrects exams. There were a few back issues of various astrophysics journals still stacked there; Jeong Jeong puts them to use as coasters. Volume 10, issue 4 of Space Science Review goes to Piandao’s bowl; the special Winter 1992 edition of Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics to Jeong Jeong. Piandao, trailing behind him, brings the spoons. They sit down, knees almost touching.

“How is it?” asks Jeong Jeong.

Piandao blows on his spoon and takes in a mouthful. “Not bad,” he says. “Although it’ll be better with some – I don’t know the word – but those little red fruits.”

“Jujubes,” says Jeong Jeong, and then: “Fuck off, be grateful for what you’ve got. You know how long it took me to even locate some sesame seeds in a Salt Lake City grocery store?”

Sunday morning slants in from between the slats of the crooked window blinds. In the sharp angle of the light, his features look different: the sun picks out the bronze-ish tint in his dark hair, makes the shell of his ear glow pink and red. In front of him, the steam from the porridge unfurls in delicate, thin grey spirals.

Piandao put his spoon down. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You really didn’t have to. The plane ticket from Los Angeles must have been expensive.”

A shrug. “Couldn’t let you die alone in Utah, of all places.”

“It was just an appendectomy. How much did you pay for the flight? I can…I can pay you back, the university gives me a stipend, I can afford it.”

Jeong Jeong sets his spoon down too, picks up the bowls and takes them over to rinse in the sink.

“When I got the call from the secretary,” he says, not looking up from the dish sponge. “She didn’t say what happened. She just said, please can you be informed that Mr. Liu has been taken to the hospital for a medical emergency, she had just gone down the list of his emergency contact numbers and you happened to be the first one who picked up, and then she hung up. I barely got the name of the hospital out of her before she did. Nothing more. I called back and got a busy line. And then I thought – I started thinking – I didn’t know what I was thinking. I got scared. I just came back from SF that day – I went to see Johnny and Gene at the General, and when I got back in and the phone rang and the woman said you were sick too…I don’t know.”

The bowls, scrubbed to death, are getting beyond clean. Jeong Jeong throws the sponge down, where it lands with a wet smack.

“I know you’re not like me,“ he adds wretchedly. “I mean, I know you’re not a homosexual. And besides: fucking Utah? Of all places? I knew it was probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Piandao says.

Jeong Jeong stabs a finger in his direction. “But don’t you dare pay me back though. Don’t you even try that shit on me. I will actually punch you if you try.”

Piandao says nothing. He pictures the cramped kitchenette of Jeong Jeong’s apartment off Hoover Street, with its ugly green plastic phone duct-taped to the wall, opposite to the grimy stove and the eternal stacks of takeout containers and the Proud Berkley Grad of ’87 fridge magnet that Piandao had bought him as a joke, when Jeong Jeong finally carried through on his threats and really dropped out, for good this time. He pictures Jeong Jeong stumbling back in fron the hospital, exhausted, and then accepting a long-distance call from Utah anyways.

Jeong Jeong had taken the call and flew out the very next morning. He had came in such a hurry that he brought nothing with him other than the clothes he was wearing and a backpack full of California oranges, because he had some idea that vitamin C was vital to every patient’s recovery, no matter the ailment. He had come to Piandao.

Times like this, Piandao wishes his English is better. Even now, after five years in this country, he has no way to express how he feels, right now, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while Jeong Jeong slams dishes and utensils back into their drawers, shoulders hunched over. Something hot and formless is coursing through his chest, but Piandao can’t shape it. He can’t forge the thing into words.

Perhaps there’s no words at all for this in English. Not in Chinese, either, and not in Korean. There are no words for this in any language in the world.

So Piandao reaches out instead. He touches a hand to the curve of Jeong Jeong’s back, and when Jeong Jeong looks over, questioning, he clears his throat and says:

“I liked it. The zhou.”

“You mean juk,” Jeong Jeong corrects him, as contrary as ever.

“Alright, the juk. It was very good.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not shitting me?”

“No. I should call your mother, tell her what a good chef her son is becoming.”

“Fuck off,” Jeong Jeong says, but he smiles anyways.

Piandao smiles back. His hand is still where he put it, resting on Jeong Jeong’s back, and he does not move it away. This, also – this is an unspoken message, but not for forever. Already Piandao can see the shape of it in his future. Something was unfurling between them, as delicate as steam, as marvellous as light.

[cherishedkids]

fight || tokito muichiro x reader

anime: kimetsu no yaiba  warning/s: sad, spoilers from the manga, mentions of injuries and character deaths words: 1,686 pairing/s: tokito muichiro x reader request: “Manga spoilers to the ppl who didnt read the manga!!! au where Tokito Muichiro lives and gets a happy ending with a gender neutral reader?” -anon

A/N: thank you to the anon who requested this!! gosh ive been writing so much muichiro lately 😳 i hope you enjoyed this!

The sun streams in, touching everything in its path. You were no stranger to its harsh nature, as you saw countless demons die by its hand. But as its rays touch your own face, you are reminded of a new day. A fresh path was open to you.

Muichiro lay on his back, bandages wrapped around his body. It had been a few months after the brush of death with Kokushibo. Thankfully, the gods saw fit to let him survive. The most that happened was the loss of his right leg and a coma right after. You knew his body needed time to heal, but you had no idea as to how long.

The first time you saw him in that state, you almost cried. Forget the noble cause of fighting for others, forget eradicating demons; he was ready to give himself up for the corps. Those who witnessed him fight the demon praised him for his bravery and abilities—those who were still alive, at least. Hundreds of thousands of his comrades had fallen before him, cursed to die in their work. You were scared for him, yes, but the passion in his eyes burned, and you knew that he’d do everything in his power to kick into gear the death of demons. It was especially present in the fight with the Upper Moon One. He was fine when he left you that night, but the next day, he came back to you, unconscious and battered.

But he survived. And he conquered death. So many times, he was close to dying. So many times, tears fell from eyes, worried sick. So many times, you prayed for him to be alright.

Everyday, for the past months, you waited for him to awaken. You needed a distraction—something to hold on to while Muichiro was not available. So after the first week, you decided to build your own house. It was difficult at first; finding free lands, contacting workers, and getting an architect to make plans for it, but it would be worth it in the end. You expected a lot going in. Money wasn’t a problem, as Ubuyashiki’s family was eager to help its demon slayers, but the stress of the project was big. You devoted yourself to it, as the fantasy of living a normal life with Muichiro gave you motivation. Even the finest of details—what polish to use, the type of wood, and even the lacquers, you paid attention to.

It was all for Muichiro. You had no idea the pain he felt as he laid there, thinking it might be his last moments. You wanted to alleviate that, if only a little, with a promise of a home after he wakes up. If he even wakes up.

The project was long done, the house sitting pristine atop a hill. It wasn’t grand—just enough for a couple to live in. But even so, Muichiro showed no signs of stirring.

Exhausted, you sat back down on your chair and waited patiently for him to open his eyes. The staff at the Butterfly Estate had looks of pity on you whenever you visited them everyday, but you were used to it. If you had no hope for him, then who else would? His flickering light needed someone to shield it, and if it took years, you were perfectly fine with that.

Again, his face lay in a peaceful state. The airy-ness that it exuded was nowhere to be seen. He was fine this way, he seemed happy. But you needed him awake.

For the umpteenth time, you reached across to hold his hand. If you could take away all the pain he had ever felt in his life, you would. He did not deserve this.

“Muichiro… please, get through this,”

Like all the other times, he didn’t reply. There were no tears to escape your eyes. They had already long dried out. You let out a sigh, but you never let go of his hand.

Maybe it was how the sun rose to the sky, carrying light with it. Maybe it was how the moon sank down below, yielding to the superior being. Maybe it was just the result of faith and months of prayers.

Muichiro’s hand intertwined with yours. The force of this wasn't lost on you. When you looked up, his blue eyes stared back at you, full of life and confusion.

“Muichiro!” You almost hugged him, but you weren’t sure if he was well enough for big commotions. You stood up, shaking from excitement. “Hold on, I’ll call Kanzaki—“

His hand doesn’t let go of you. “Please, stay with me for a while,”

You sit back down, ready to answer any of his questions.

“How long have I been… asleep?” This question, you’ve been anticipating.

“About five months,”

“And the others, what happened?”

You swallow the stone stuck in your throat. “Kokushibo died after you lost consciousness, and, well…”

It was clear from your demeanor, and Muichiro understood and nodded. “So they all died…?”

“Muzan was defeated,” At these words, he turned to you, eyes widened. “Tanjiro and his friends and the water hashira are the only ones left,”

“While I was asleep, huh,” You didn’t know what he meant by that.

“At least you’re here now!” He returned the smile you shot him and pressed your hand to his lips.

“Yes. With you.”

After calling Kanzaki Aoi to have a look at him, she deemed him fully recovered from his wounds. Muichiro expressed sadness when he saw his right leg… or lack thereof, but shrugged it off.

“It was the sacrifice I took to see you again,” He said, and your heart rejoiced at those words.

Tengen Uzui, Kamado Tanjiro and Nezuko, Shinazugawa Sanemi, and Tomioka Giyuu were there to greet him. He was one of the people who risked his lives, so naturally, they rejoiced at his awakening. Tengen Uzui welcomed him into his retired life, and pointed at his missing left hand.

“We’re kind of the same, aren’t we?” He laughs, and Muichiro can only smile at his joke.

Shinazugawa and Tomioka regard him, but only Tomioka brought a gift. It was a sword, as he recounts that his was lost in battle.

“Just for protection,” He reassures Muichiro. He accepts the gifts and thanks him. You secretly hope that he never has to draw that sword in any sort of battle.

Kamado Tanjiro and Nezuko approach him. They were both older than the two of you, and their presence was full of warmth.

“Nezuko, the last I saw you…” Of course, he is dumbfounded. He missed out on a lot while he was asleep, after all.

“I know! It’s nice to talk to you as a human again,”

They don’t see it, but the look of contentment crosses his face.

He is eventually cleared off, and was given a wheelchair to sit in. While crutches were given to him, his other leg had atrophied, so he had to train himself to walk. Almost everyone in the Demon Slayer Corps retired after Muzan was defeated. Although some stayed, to protect the Ubuyashiki family. But that was out of your hands now.

You took him to the house you spent so much time working on. Of course, he was blind-folded, so he would not see the surprise. It was already afternoon, and you were sure that he was hungry, so you had to make this fast.

When you finally take off the blindfold, he stares at the house before him. He is silent, taking in sight.

“You…” He says, after a while. “Built this for us?”

You nod, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he gestures for you to come closer, and you do, waiting for him to say his thoughts. But instead, he grabs on to your kimono and kisses you. When you both pull away, he has a blush on his cheeks.

“Thank you, for everything,”

The both of you go inside, and his stomach rumbles. He doesn’t even try to hide it, as he whispers that he is hungry.

“Just sit tight, okay?” You rush to make lunch. Thankfully, you hadn’t thrown the head of lettuce that you ate the night before, and it was still relatively fresh. You get a pan and make his favorite food. It was chicken stew, complete with side dishes. After an hour, you pop out of the kitchen and set the table. He tries to help, but you disagree.

“You’ve been fighting for your life all this time, it’s the least that I can do.”

He smiles and sits back. He can’t deny the fact that he wants nothing more but to assist you, but he knows how long you’ve been waiting for this moment.

The lunch you prepared for him puts him at ease. It’s a reminder of the things that could be, and things to come. If anything, it reminds him of hope—of home. Of what was once his, but lost to unfortunate events.

As he sips the broth, tears start pouring down his face. He can’t contain himself, he just feels so sentimental that moment. When you see this, a look of worry crosses your face. Was your cooking that bad? But he waves it off, and wipes his cheeks.

“I’m just so happy that you stayed for me,” He admits, and you wonder just how long he was holding that one in.

“Of course I would!” It would not make much sense if you just left him just because he was unwell! But he looks at you with uncertainty. So you hold his hands in yours again. “I love you very much, Muichiro. No matter how long, or whatever happens to you, I’ll always be there for you,”

Something had changed inside him. It was tiny, and no one really noticed it. But you did.

“I love you too, ___,”

You were just so happy to have him back, and even if the future was uncertain, you had him with you. And that was enough.

The sun may have gone down, but you had your own sun in your home.

[birdwonder]

Genos and Saitama | Your Heroes

|| whoo, another amazing request from @tishimaaa! honestly people, feel free to request stuff from me, it makes me so happy! i really hope you all enjoy this lil’ fic - the main plot was a struggle to come up with, but the request for a reader who liked taking photos was so cute and perfect. <3

[F/N] [L/N]. Full time journalist and sadly, only part time blogger.

As generic as your occupation sounded, your life could be the furthest thing from that. You were a young adult, living in Japan in an apartment with decent rent but little to no neighbours, which made perfect sense seeing as your surrounding area was a honeypot for swarms of monsters that were ready to kill and slaughter.

Now, as horrible as that sounded, it wasn’t all that bad! As a journalist, it gave you an easy and early access to juicy scoops that you could impress your boss and editor with; and it gave you a heap ton to talk about for your hero fan blog online. Not to forget - you weren’t living alone. To be specific, you had two other roommates living in the cramped apartment that had a generous amount of space for one person, but no room at all for three.

Well, you say roommates but more officially they were your boyfriends. Emphasis on the plural. It may be unconventional to have not one but two lovers, but after staying with the both of them for such a long time and all three of you developing mutual feelings, why just settle for one when everyone could be happy? Genos, or more popularly known as Demon Cyborg by the masses, and Saitama who was doomed with the title Caped Baldly, were the two that had captured your heart. Your perfect heroes. Which worked well considering the fact that you were a hero fanatic, and they were always out doing something incredible that you could add to your page. Well, Saitama did a lot less than Genos but when he did fight oooh boy. Was it amazing. 

It was seriously painful to know that Saitama got absolutely zero recognition for his heroic efforts, especially when he hasn’t lost a single battle to your knowledge! It’s the same routine really; a villain approaches, one hit and it’s over. ‘Caped Baldy’ really didn’t do him justice. He deserved a better name like ... The Punching Man! Or Single Punch. 

You should really just stick to writing about heroes instead of creating them.

Sometimes when you felt like your blog had gotten dry or you were in desperate need of material for your work, you would wait close by Genos so that you could be there when he was alerted of any ‘approaching life forms’ as he occasionally put it or monsters that were attacking the cities. 

Right now, your head was rested on his shoulder while you were sitting on the floor in front of a small TV, neither of you really paying attention to what was being said on the screen but it made for great white noise as the two of you simply enjoyed each other’s company. It would be even greater if Saitama was there too, arms wrapped around your waist or his head on your lap as he usually liked to laze about with you, unfortunately he was out buying groceries.

You sighed contently as Genos reached over to take a strand or two of your hair between his fingers, trying to get his sensors in his finger tips to pick up on the texture as he’s done so many times before. “It’s so soft...” He noted, focused so intently on your hair that it might as well been what was on TV instead of the weather report. 

“Thanks Genos,” you laughed, winking as you joked, “I make sure to keep it brushed and conditioned just for you.” As appreciated as his praise was, you were certain that no matter if your hair was straight, curly, long or short, he would probably have something nice to say about it.

“Don’t do it for me! You should be taking care of yourself on your own accord. I read somewhere that treating your body well and taking care of yourself can help keep your mood up by a large scale.” The cyborg began to ramble, listing off a number of ways that you could pamper yourself as though he was a walking self-care beauty kit ad. At least you knew that next time you went shopping, you had the OK to buy a face mask.

 As informative as it was, you lifted a finger to his lips to hush him, something you usually did when you wanted to keep him quiet. Or kiss him. That usually worked but then he wouldn’t speak for a good ten minutes. 

From there the two of you continue to sit in comfortable silence until you heard the sound of a door unlocking and opening, causing you to lift your head from Genos’ shoulder to see Saitama had returned, hands filled with bags which had increased since the time you and Genos officially moved it. Thankfully being a journalist and S-ranked hero helped cover the expenses.

“Sai, welcome back!” You greeted with a sweet voice that instantly put a small smile on the C-ranked hero’s face.

“Hey. See you two are comfortable.” Saitama then proceeded to start putting the products he had bought away, careful to not put something cold in the cabinet or rice in the fridge since he was trying to do it all quickly to join your cuddling session. How dare you two be lazy and snuggle up when he had to sort out 50 coupons at the check out to find at least one that wasn’t expired? Unforgivable. “Totally not like I was outside freezing my ass off or anything”

You snickered at his sarcastic comment and made a ‘come here’ gesture. “Well if you hurry up, you can join us, dummy.”

“Or you could help out? Better yet. I sit down and chill and you do all of this, and cook lunch. And make some dessert while you’re at it maybe.” Saitama retorted, huffing at his lack of assistance while you cheekily grinned and tapped your chin, as if deep in thought. 

“Hoooow about ... no.~”

Throwing his head back a little, Saitama groaned with annoyance even though he knew he wasn’t going to stay mad at you. “Maybe you want to help out, Genos?” He queried, raising a brow at the cyborg who had suddenly stood up, startling you from his unexpected move. Was he that excited to help sort out groceries?

“There’s something outside. No. Two beings are nearby.” 

Finally, some action! Your eyes sparkled with excitement, looking back and forth from Genos and Saitama with an expecting look, knowing that they'd have no choice but to go check it out. After all, no one came round here except for monsters, and they wouldn’t dare let you sleep in a dangerous environment. What sweethearts.

They gave each other a nod, both knowing what they had to do, before looking over at you. “Stay here, [F/N]. We’ll be back in a short bit, just put the food away for me, yeah?” Saitama asked, only needing to take a few steps to be standing in front of you and place a hand on your head. In return, you leant up to peck his cheek as a good luck charm, a thing you usually did when they were about to head out.

“Do your best out there, guys!” 

“We will do even better than that,” Genos corrected, mimicking Saitama by also patting your head. Guess he was trying to learn more from his sensei than just how to become a strong hero.

With that they were both gone and you were left in the apartment, standing in the middle of the square living room by your lonesome, but not for long! Turning on your heel, you rushed over to a corner of the room where you usually dumped your bag after work and rummaged inside looking for your camera. 

You cheered a small ‘yes’ once you grabbed it, rushing to the door to slip your shoes on and dash out the house and down the building’s stairs. It took a lot of frantic looking around to find out where they went but luckily they had moved to one street over, already battling it out.

Well, Saitama was just standing there talking or maybe debating with one of the monsters who looked like a mix of porcupine and a mole rat while Genos was going head to head with an identical looking being but slightly taller and stockier. Already a few seconds in and you had snapped a few shots of Genos landing hits on the monster.

 From the safety of just blatantly standing behind a brick wall’s corner, you continued to take more photos while the excitement of going home to upload them to your laptop was bubbling inside you. Obviously a few of the more up close and handsome would be saved for yourself . You may love sharing the amazing abilities of your lovers to the world but even you got a little jealous over fans looking at Genos too much. 

‘It’s not fair, why is he so perfect?’ You mentally complained, cursing the fact the cyborg looked so good while also being a badass fighter. Sadly for you, you got way too wrapped up in your thoughts and failed to noticed the looming figure behind you.

With no warning or even an idea with what’s to come, a large hand wrapped around your throat from behind, forcing a gasp and sickly choking sound to escape your throat.

“Lookie, lookie. A little lamb fresh for the slaughter house,” a gruff yet arrogant voice cooed, sending all the worst kinds of shivers down your spines. With a grip tight on your throat, it was hard to move your head, especially when the stranger’s hand seemed to cover the whole surface area of your neck. Yet you managed to tilt it just enough to see the face of your attacker.

A deep blue mole like muzzle sniffled disgustingly near your face, as if to take in your scent. Small, black squinting eyes seemed to be heavily focused on you and it was clear by his much larger porcupine quills and stature, that this guy was the superior of the two other beasts fighting Saitama and Genos. Damn, he must have been too far away at first for Genos to have detected him.

“Let...go!” It was hard to choke out the command and all of your energy was going into swinging your legs back and forth, and scratching at the hand holding you in hopes it hurt enough to make him release his grip on you. To no avail, his hand didn’t so much as loosen.

In the most mocking manner ever, the mole creature barked out in laughter and seemed to even tear up a little at your feeble attempt of escaping. “Don’t be stupid, little thing! As the Rodent King, I’m making it my mission to expand my empire by killing off every single one of you miserable humans,” he boasted, chest puffed out as though he was announcing the world’s greatest news. If you had the energy to, you’d roll your eyes. “From a burrow in the woods to the whole of the miserable planet, and then the world, I will claim all of this land and  my people and I will live long and fruitfully!”

Despite it being loud and obnoxious, the monologging rodent’s speech didn’t take your mind off the serious lack of oxygen you weren’t getting and your limbs began to go limp. The camera that was once in your hand clattered to the ground and shattered, the majority of it still being connected together with all the inner components sprung out and the lens had to have shattered; not that it mattered to a dead person. 

The loud clatter of the camera caught the Rodent King’s attention, and his looked down to spot what had fallen and yet he asked, “huh? What was that?” His nose sniffed a couple of times, trying to find the scent of what had fallen and then it struck you. He’s as blind as mole. This guy relied on scent to see! 

“No matter, it doesn’t matter now.” He shrugged, letting go of your neck, causing you to fall onto your knees and gasp for a desperate amount of air. ‘Oh sweet oxygen, don’t ever let me lose you again. I promise to walk more to work, I really do.’ 

Meekly, you looked up to see that your nightmare wasn’t over. The monster was now knelt down on one leg in front of you, one arm resting on his propped up knee and another was raised above your head, a large, clenched fist ready to crash down on your skull. “Like I said, you humans are destined to die by my hand! Now, any last words?”

Shit, shit. What to do? You weren’t ready to die, not like this. You hadn’t regained enough air to cry out for help, so all you had right now was yourself to save you. You and a ... busted camera! Patting around, you knew that the Rodent King wouldn’t notice your fidgeting so you quickly tried to search for it while still keeping eye contact with him, just so he didn’t grow suspicious.

“Yeah actually... Just three.” 

Got it!

You grabbed ahold of the largest chunk of the camera you could find, and pulled back your arm, smashing the once treasured device onto the villain’s face while simultaneously quickly standing up. “Eat shit, bitch!”

A pained cry came from the Rodent King, who slapped his previously raised hand over his face to cover where the camera had hit him. Just like you, he had quickly gotten up though you were already taking two steps away from him. Now, if you could just run away, you could head for the other two! Oh God, how you wanted to hold them. To feel safe and warm in their arms.

That desire crashed down like a burning plane however when you felt your arm be grabbed. The mole clearly was strong enough to recover quickly from the minor attack, and he looked furious, quills sticking up much higher than before. “You bitch! How dare you! Do you know who you are dealing with?!”

Before you could even make a clever comeback, or a pathetic cry for mercy, the hold on you suddenly became non existent when a blast had hit the head of the Rodent King, sending him flying back a couple of feet away. 

‘Huh? Wait, that could only mean,’ you cut off your own thoughts by swiftly turning around to see two figures standing in front of you, your boys. Oh, and did they look pissed. 

“I believe it is you who doesn’t know who they’re dealing with.” Genos harshly stated, a now closing canon whirring from within his hand as he glared at the now writhing in pain monster. Saitama looked just as deadly, his expression darkened and already he was stepping closer to the villain. 

“I’ll take this one Genos, just make sure that [F/N] isn’t hurt.”

With an accepting nod, Genos gently put an arm around you and pulled you close to his side, guiding you further away from the street for the sake of your wellbeing and your eyes not seeing what bloodshed would probably ensue. 

“[F/N], what were you doing there? Do you know how dangerous it is to follow us into battle?!” 

The scolding stung a little emotionally though his concerned expression and gentle hands lifting your chin to brush over any potential bruising on your neck made up for it, letting you know that it was just the stress of losing you that had gotten him so riled up. 

“I’m sorry, Genos. Really. I just,” you choked a little, tears threatening to spill but you wouldn’t let them, “I just love seeing you and Saitama fight, and I’m just so proud to have such incredible boyfriends- I guess I just wasn’t careful enough.”

The robotic hero sighed. He couldn’t understand why you would risk yourself for a couple of candid photos of him and his sensei, especially when you weren’t even close to being evenly matched against any hero or villain. Though it didn’t mean he wasn’t flattered, plus he also knew that heroes were a passion of your’s, something he wouldn’t dream of trying to change.

Brushing some of your hair from your face that had gotten loose and messy from the scuffle you had, he rested his forehead against your’s and let a beat of silence pass before speaking. “It’s fine, please do not let yourself cry over this. Just next time, give us a warning? We will maybe try and work something out if you are so insistent on getting photos of our fights.”

That made you smile a little. As stoic and harsh as Genos may seem, his heart was usually in the best of places, especially when it came to those he cared about. It’s one of the reasons why you love him so much. 

“Sure hon, though I doubt I’ll be taking any photos any time soon. I may have smashed my camera back here while I was being, y’know.” A weak chuckle left your lips, and Genos was about to say a few more words of comfort for your loss of a prized possession when a much calmer than before voice spoke up.

“No biggie, we can just buy you a new one, right?”

Turning around and smiling softly, the usual nonchalant expression of Saitama was as welcoming as a warm hug on a winter’s day. In his hand was a brown wallet, a few yen notes poking out of the pocket which gave the idea that a lot was inside. “Turns out even rat things carry about cash on them, and if I’m right this should cover for a new camera.”

Saitama placed a hand on your head like earlier, his eyes soft while glancing at you, something you responded to by pulling him into a tight hug and burying your face into the soft fabric of his hoodie. A much better thing to soak a few tears in than his flashy hero outfit, in your opinion. 

“Oh thank you so, so much. You guys really are my heroes.” You sniffled, pulling your face away from Saitama’s chest. “I love you boys so much!”

Of course, the two had to smile at that, both leaning down to plant a small kiss on a temple either side of your head. “We love you more,” Saitama chimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while Genos opted for holding your hand loosely, which was usually out of his comfort zone in public areas. Luckily, it was only you three. 

“Now, I believe Sensei brought some food home, yes? Shall we go prepare some lunch?”

“Oh yeah! If you two could make some soba that’d be great.”

“Oh Sai...”

[border-spam]

Leech Lord AU - Char Breakdown

Seifa A’rosk / Seifa Ur-Machina / Saint of the God King’s Mechanica

Bless u @nikyri-art​ and @lazulizard​ for the art! List of character traits and world-building facets for this character within my story. The Leech Lord Au is the one all other twins content I’ve written is set in.

Troy’s is HERE Tyreen’s is HERE

Note, ye asked and ye received. Literally my first OC ever, no clue what I’m doing, constructive feedback is 100% welcome.

Physical Details:

Right handed.

Very short, 4′11″, and rarely seen out of heeled boots.

5 years older than the twins, in her mid twenties when she came across the scabby looking rat who introduced herself as Tyreen.

Long auburn hair she usually wears in waves.

Right side shave, warm blue eyes, septum/eyebrow/labret facial piercings

Average bodyweight, hourglass shape.

Saint sigil tattoo between her shoulderblades.

Couple of small scars across torso, stab wound near navel, nicks across left ribs. 

Visible facial scar is paper thin and streaks across her right brow into her hairline. Tells everyone this was from a knife fight, but was actually from an echodevice she was trying to scavenge components from blowing in her face a decade ago. Figures she might as well try and get some intimidation points out of it.

Relaxed punk aesthetic she carries into her engineering uniform.

Usually covered in homemade jewelry.

Backstory:

Sei is a migrant junker/mechanic, and has been running a solo career as one since her late teens.

She has no memory of family, and doesn't care in the slightest. Figures she was probably sold into child labor before she was old enough to remember who they were. Loses no sleep over this and rarely gives it any thought.

Grew up traveling with her "Boss" (head of the scavenging ring who managed herself and the other skinny little kids she was raised with) between different rim planets including Pandora, scrapping and repairing tech while scavenging the thousands of ship husks dumped during the corporate wars.

Spent her formative years constantly surrounded by other children and teens who helped each other get each other through what should have been a relatively lonely existence, and developed a close family bond with many.

Retained contact with a lot of them in adulthood. They operate a network of mechanics and engineers across the system, a few of which come to work within the COV Mechanica when they realise she can offer safety.

Spent her childhood and teens learning the art of the deal from her boss, accompanying him on trade runs, market dealings, debt collections, anything and everything he figured would help her in the long term. Learned everything she could while accompanying him as a kid, like a filthy little sponge in too-big overalls and a runny nose.

Engineering and mech skills have been honed from years of pulling apart and crawling into junked ships, repairing and reselling on components for profit.

At 19, she had saved enough to purchase a shitty little rehashed transport ship from her Boss, and set out to start her own trade. They've kept in touch and are on friendly grounds. Still calls him Boss. Never actually learned his name, it didn’t matter.

Seifa spends years migrating between outer planets, building a reputation with her bartering and trade skills. Playing idiot traders like instruments, flirting her way into high profit deals, and starting bar fights. She doesn’t take part in them mind you, she’s a lady. She just starts them. 

It’s an easy way to get a group of “eager investors” to weed out the lesser competition, and leave you able to playfully manipulate yourself into the good graces of someone who’s too horny and pumped up on the hormonal rush of the fight to realise that they are the mark.

Moves to the next planet once she's outstayed her welcome, but always makes more friends than enemies.

At 25, finds a terrified and not remotely intimidating girl in a Pandoran junkyard, who pulls a gun on her. Tyreen tries to mug her with a shitty SMG that's clearly out of ammo, has a jammed trigger, and gets laughed at in response. Gets called a weird, stupid kid. Gets interrogated about how she is too old to be on Pandora and still alive if this is how clueless she is, so what’s going on? 

Ty breaks down into tears and begs to please, please get her some medicine. Her "Brother is so sick” and he's “all she has now”, and they've “no money, no supplies. It wasn’t meant to go like this, it shouldn’t have gone like this but they didn’t know what it would be like.." and in a rare moment of empathy likely routed in years of being around kids this stupid, and clueless, and dumb ... Seifa helps.

Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:

✓ Confident, both in her appearance and knowledge.

Sei is a jack of all trades, master of none. Her range of knowledge is broad and useful, and her confidence stems both from her well maintained physical appearance, and general competency in most situations where she needs to be.

✓  Socially skilled, fast learner, adaptable. 

She’s been learning on her feet as long as she can remember, and is highly socially skilled, though a lot of her “nice” interactions can be a veneer. She holds people at arms length without them realising she’s not being as open and friendly as she appears.

✓  Self sufficient, reliable, trustworthy.

An adult lifetime of needing to rely solely on herself has left her highly sufficient, and very dependable. Seifa is the kind of person you call when you need something done, and don’t need to ask questions about how she gets you your results. You’ll get what you need.. just don’t hassle her about how she achieved it. You’ll be told to piss off, very clearly.

✓  Excellent negotiator, skilled in controlling conversations and manipulating others from years of trading for a living.

Seifa has been learning how to argue, shift conversations towards her own goals, and turn competitors on each other since she was barely able to carry a wrench. She’s an excellent dealer, and can drop into one of her many characters instantly when they’d help shift a contract towards her gain. Floozy giggling newcomer? Got it. Clueless naive big spender? No problem. Trade baroness about to crush your knuckles? Game on.

It’s something the twin strays she rescues are very interested in learning from her.

✓  Naturally friendly, and deeply caring for those she bonds with.

Sei is generally easy to get on with, between her decent set of social skills and ability to quickly read people, she comes across as quite friendly and overall pleasant to most people. She’s very slow to become genuine around others or show her caring side, an understandable side effect of the kind of life she’s lived, but her close friends are very close, and see her as one for life.

✓  Lawful Neutral.

 Morals are decent ( for a Pandoran) , and is always willing to help someone if it's not too much hassle or won’t put her out. Like the majority of people living on this rock however, she won’t put strangers before her own safety or wellbeing.

x  Very vain.

Sei will sacrifice functionality for style in the Mechanicum without a second thought, and will become frustrated and snappy if unhappy with her appearance and forced into social situations. She’s had a lifetime of curating her looks and using them as a tool, and hates being seen “out of character”.

x Self focused. 

She won’t risk harm physically or to her reputation for someone she has no stake in. Fact of life on Pandora is that people who do that don't tend to live very long, and she’s highly aware of that. Close friends and children are about it when it comes to who she’d take a risk for, and bandits slaughtering each other or ransacking towns is unlikely to be something she’d be very phased by. It’s not that she doesn’t care, she just doesn’t allow herself to.

x Irritable, easily brought to frustration or insulted. Holds grudges badly.

Seifa manages her collected and cool outer demeanor by pushing it over her emotional state. It’s a defense mechanism she’s learned from a lifetime of being in situations where emotion = weakness. Her high personal opinion of herself and pride in her skill means she takes to being insulted very easily. A subordinate who doesn’t show her respect won’t stay in her department long, and an equal who treats her like an underling? She will Never. Let. It. Go.

x Snappy and unpleasant when stressed or overworked, unable to handle emotion based arguments.

Seifa’s response to stress or frustration is to become overwhelmingly in control of the situation, and fiercely logical. Her social niceness evaporates and she defaults to the simple level of “Get this shit done NOW, and don’t question me” when it comes to dolling out required tasks. This is a bad thing to couple with arrogance. She is also completely incapable of arguing with someone who uses emotion instead of logic as their drive, and so while she is able to communicate with Troy very well even in heated times as they both default to logic, arguments between herself and Tyreen can become vicious, as neither is capable of expressing themselves in the other’s language when frustrated.

x Loyalty to close friends can overpower her better judgement in situations.

She’s completely aware of the hypocrisy of this weakness considering the front she likes to portray, being cold and unaffected by problems, but has never been able to stop herself from making this same mistake. Over and over.

x Noticeably arrogant, no respect for the chain of command.

Relying on her gut for survival through her life left her with an inflated sense of worth for her own opinion, and she finds it very hard to really convince herself that others may be the better option, or have more value than her own. This means she can also easily forget her place if she thinks a superior is in the wrong. Has earned her a stab to the abdomen and a broken wrist in the past. Both healed, both scarred. Her arrogance towards the twins, being that they are younger and far less experienced than her in general life, has caused multiple confrontation. She know’s it’s a problem, and she’s trying to get better. She really is.

Likes:

Money.

Personal freedoms.

Self reliance.

Feeling admired and appreciated.

Close companionships with friends who see her as an equal.

Her advice being heeded.

Growing plants.

Tinkering with smalltime tech and gadgets.

The safety of the COV meaning she can finally settle in one place.

Respect.

Being wanted, physically and emotionally.

Tenderness.

Gaming, watching movies, appreciating art. 

Crafting jewelry from scrap

Having her gentle, caring nature be valued.

Men.

Dislikes:

Bullshit. Can't stand people who don't communicate logically.

Being spoken down to.

Her appearance being mocked or intelligence belittled.

Social sycophancy.

Being lied to, having her trust broken when she so rarely gives it.

Unfairness, aimed at her or those she feels protective over ( friends, underlings )

Pointless violence.

Risk taking.

Most things considered *edible* on Pandora.

Men. -

Asks are Open!

[fluffybunnybadass]

Worth More Than You Think

Fandom: Dragon Ball Xenoverse

Word count: 3300

Content warnings: brief flashback of a child being harmed, high emotions about past friendships, and uhhhh I don’t think there’s another but if there is, please hmu

Rating: uhhhh Teen?

Summary: It’s a restless night for the otherwise stoic Saiyan that had been deposited on Earth after two Time Patrollers found her. It’s clear to the human that has been trying to befriend her that something’s bothering them, but, as usual, they refuse to say anything. If only he could just get Chikori to talk...

This features two of my Xenoverse OCs, Chikori and Fallafal. Chikori is a she/they non-binary Saiyan, and Fallafal is an ordinary Human living with his family on their farm. This story takes place well before the events of Xenoverse 1, yet it is only one of the first ticks that the wheel of fate has taken in creating that tale.

---

Heyyyyy I had a high emotions and frustrations morning, a friend asked me to vent, and afterwards i just really felt like I could maybe work the remaining balance of feelings into a story. So this is, in the most vaguest way, based on actual events, but also twisted to fit within the framework of “canon”. 

I’m testing out how to work in flux/dual pronoun usage while writing. It is intentional if you see both used for Chikori within the same sentence, and not at all laziness. Enjoy! 

---------------------------

Chikori was restless tonight. The purple-haired Saiyan had found themselves a comfortable tree branch that oversaw a lake, with just enough clearing in the tree above it that she could see the stars and half-moon above. Her tail flicked and swished, irate, as thoughts surrounded them. A frustrated growl startled the nearby wildlife, before they resumed their nightly routine.

That was how Fallafal found them. He had gone looking when the Saiyan had disappeared after the meal they shared with his family, more quiet than usual. Sulky, almost. He came to stand under the tree, watching the brown tail above flick about like it was swatting flies. It reminded him of the farm's cat. He let out a sigh and ruffled his hair, not sure where to start with her.

“You know,” he began slowly, building up his courage to speak to the Saiyan. What if they didn't want to talk? What if they were somehow mad at him or his family, or felt like they were keeping her here because she had no where else to go in the galaxy? The Saiyan had been dumped on his family's property by some “Time Patrollers”, or whatever they called themselves, and the Saiyan was awfully quiet about its history. The Patrollers had said very little themselves, though he was certain the yellow one wanted to share with him everything that she? It? Could.

“You know,” he began again, swallowing his fears. “If sumthin's botherin' you, you could've just talk to me an' my family.” He paused. “Nuthin' good came of not telling anybody how you feel.”

The Saiyan didn't respond, but Fallafal could see her tail stop for a second, slowing down, with only the tip of it flicking in thoughtfulness.

“Aaaah.... I don't kno' how to help you if you're keepin' quiet. N-Not that you hafta talk!!!” he added in a panic. “I jus' know that, when my sis was feelin' bad growin' up, even when none of us had the answers to her problems, she felt much better sharin' than tryna hide it from us.”

There was a long pause. Fallafal sighed, about ready to turn in and go home, when the Saiyan finally spoke to him.

“......I'm not hiding anything,” they said in a level voice. “I'm thinking.”

Fallafal felt a sliver of relief that she was willing to talk to him, and sat under the tree to talk with her.

“That's great! Mind sharin' what's on yer mind?”

Another pause. There was a soft flicker in the tail, much like his cat when it was deciding something. Perhaps Saiyans were more like cats than monkeys...? But who was he to suggest that, when he didn't know anything about this alien species that had apparently gone extinct hundreds of years ago, the remnants of their bloodline so diluted amongst the humans and other species, that no one even knew about it.

“..... I'm remembering something.”

Fallafal fell silent. Chikori had barely shared any of her past with him. All he knew was that she was a member of some space army-- or had been--, and that she had no recollection of what happened to the ship she was aboard between being cryogenetically frozen and being picked up by the Patrollers. She had shown a few times her amazing, inhuman strength, and refused to go outside on certain nights, claiming it was for his and his family's safety. Whatever it was, if she was going to share it, it had to have been important.

“I'm listening, Chikori.”

The Saiyan kept quiet for a moment. Fallafal thought that maybe she had changed her mind about sharing. He watched her figure in the moonlight. Though it fell on her, he couldn't see her expression. But based on her tone and usual demeanor, he could hazard a guess that it was the same as always: placid.

“There was this... other Saiyan in my training unit on Planet Vegeta. This started before the Saiyan Army had been annexed into the Frieza Force.” She stopped.

Fallafal kept still, deciding to let Chikori speak at the pace she preferred.

The Saiyan looked down at the human sitting on the ground below her. His tousled brown hair, his green and brown clothes that almost blended into the planet's surface... She felt... uncertain about confiding in such a weak creature with such a low ki power, and yet... she was curious, as to what this low-leveled, hardly-worth-mentioning human could give her, if she told him this memory.

“I was upset with this new life we had created for ourselves. The planet had undergone what you would call a civil war. A selfish Saiyan had created an uprising, and slaughtered an entire race that I had known all my life to be peaceful. He declared himself King of the Saiyans when the battle was over, and many of the Saiyans left alive were of the sort to support him and agree.”

There was a lull as she carefully thought about her words. Fallafal half-wondered if that was it. Already that was a loaded history she had given him, but he sensed there was more to what they had been thinking about, so he kept quiet until they would tell him it was over.

“Any who opposed King Vegeta were left to work the mundane jobs or executed on the spot, per his orders.

“I had lost many Tuffle and Saiyan companions in that war that comprised my childhood. I was angry. I was hurt. But I wanted to live. So I kept silent, and bid my superiors the respect they demanded, and did not challenge anything. I knew I couldn't be the only Saiyan left alive who was struggling with this, but I did not seek them out. None of us could. It would only mean death if we had.”

The Saiyan wrapped their tail around themselves, the tip flicking softly against her body like a metronome.

“His name was Turnip. You would probably call him a friend; but I do not think any Saiyan left alive back then would have called each other that. He had commiserated with me initially about the training we were going under. It was difficult, moreso than the training during the war. Perhaps enough Saiyan lives had been lost that they were eager to fill in the space left behind with stronger ones. He seemed to enjoy my company, I think. I could tolerate him, out of all my peers.” There was a small exhale of air from her nose, as though what they had said was humorous. “I think he even preferred me over some of his companions, some days.

“I don't think he knew, but he helped me through a difficult transition. Perhaps we both did. I used to suspect that he was like me, but we never discussed it.” She let out a long exhale, sounding tired. “I apologize. I am not used to talking this much.”

Fallafal adjusted his seating for a more comfortable position.

“It's okay,” he said. “You're welcome to talk for as long as you want. I'm more than okay with it. I—” He cut himself off, catching what he was about to say, and cleared his throat. “I am more than willin' to listen, if you want to share.”

There was a pause.

“I don't, but I feel like a small part of me wants to. Is it unusual to want to indulge in that?”

“Not at all! Given where ya come from, I can understand a lot better why you're always so hesitant an' avoidant when it comes to talkin' 'bout yourself. A lot of army people are like that.”

Pause.

“I do not hesitate.”

“You do! You're hesitatin' right now!”

Chikori scowled at her human companion, wishing that there might be something she could throw at him from up here in this tree, but the branches of Earth's trees did not seem promising. And a ki blast would be far too much for such a low-level creature.

Fallafal fell over laughing, which only made her scowl more, until a soft growling could be heard coming from her.

“Okay, okay! I give! You're not hesitatin'! You're completely an' 100% eager to tell me this story.”

She frowned at him, recognizing the human dialect of sarcasm in his response. Her tail had unwound and began flicking in the air out of irritation.

“You do not need to be like that.”

“I'm sorry, I promise. I really do wanna hear your story, Chikori.”

The growing irritation in the Saiyan's spirit was hard to abate, but she had to remind herself that he was not her enemy; and that he would not take this information and use it against her. How could he? Unless he was a spy this entire time for the Frieza Force.... Capable of masking his ki and looking like a simple human being. No, she doubted that. He couldn't even see her moves when he had asked her to train him one day.

“Fine. I will continue.”

Fallafal sat back up and nodded, and the serious tone befell the both of them once more.

“He had been a good companion at first. But as time went on, and the Saiyan Army soon became part of the Frieza Force, I noticed a change in him. There was a change in the whole Army when Frieza happened. But I didn't notice it until I saw it in Turnip. He was enjoying the fighting a lot more. Those companions that he disliked, he grew to tolerate. And there was less time spent around me. I don't think he realized what had happened. I mentioned this to him, that there was a change once we became part of the Frieza Force, and that it felt far worse than what we went through on the whole from the Tuffle-Saiyan war.

“But he didn't think so.”

She fell silent. Her tail drooped over the edge of the branch, hands curled into fists as the frustration welled up once more.

“I wanted to punch him right then and there for that.”

Chikori let out a sudden guttural scream that had startled Fallafal, and she shot a ki blast at the moon. It went far away into the sky, dissipating into nothing as it reached the planet's atmosphere. She screamed again, beating her fist against the tree that she sat in. Leaves rustled, animals flew or skittered away. Those that were on the ground had scattered far away.

“I hated him so much for that!”

There was the sound of pain and anguish in her voice. Fallafal had stood up quickly, worried that Chikori might hurt someone, even herself. Beings with supernatural power, growing angry or getting hurt, was a recipe for concern in his mind. But more importantly-- he had never heard her have so much raw emotion in her voice in the short time that he knew her.

“Chikori!”

“What?!” she growled down at him. She felt the emotion well up again, the pain and resentment and hatred, yes, even hatred of this person that she had felt some level of comfort around. Hot moisture fell down her face, much like the sweat from the intense training she went through growing up, but it didn't taste like it. It almost felt like...

A flash went through her mind of her childhood. Of being seven, and seeing her Tuffle friend get taken away from her by the Saiyans that fought for King Vegeta. Her friend, dragged by the ankle as a soldier carelessly let their body scrape across the ground. Her friend's face as they screamed at her to help them, when she couldn't do anything herself.

She screamed again and shot a ki blast at the ground. It narrowly missed Fallafal. She quickly curled up into herself, her arms around her legs as she cried into her knees, tail wrapped warmly around her waist as though it was the only thing holding her in place.

Tears. She was crying tears again.

“Chikori, please... I hate sayin' this, but you need to calm down. You're goin' to hurt somethin', or sum'one, or even yourself. You got every right to be angry, but please don't destroy my planet or the forest for it.”

“I THOUGHT HE KNEW!!!” she screamed into her legs. “I THOUGH HE KNEW WHAT IT WAS LIKE!!!! I THOUGHT--!! I THOUGHT HE UNDERSTOOD!!!!” She felt so out of sorts that she didn't even know how to begin to explain herself, to put into words what she meant to say. It was all, just... so hopelessly helpless to her. That she had even given him a chance, only for him to turn around and become one of them...

“Chikori!” he shouted up at her. “Please...! I can't.... I can't help you from up there.”

At that, she stuck her head out, a nasty scowl on her face. “I never ASKED for your help!! Why?! Why do you keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?! Aren't you better off, not knowing these things?”

“Chikori...” Fallafal let out a long sigh. He put his hands on his hips, looked at the tree, and ruffled his hair. “Look, I 'aven't done this in a while, so jus' give me a moment.”

He took a deep breath, and exhaled. He charged at the tree, jumping onto it. He grunted as he climbed up, until he was on the nearest branch to where Chikori had curled themselves up.

“What-- What are you doing?”

“Look, I don't like talkin' to people on diff'rent grounds. Whether that's up high or way down low, neither's gonna help us understand one 'nother if we ain't on same ground, right?”

“I.... I don't quite follow, but I suppose...?”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head as he tried to think about the next part.

“Look, it's... It's hard, what you went through. Like, a lot of that. A LOT a lot. We might have to see 'bout getting' you to some psychatrist or sumthin',” he added in an aside.

Chikori had stopped her sniffling. She tilted her head, more confused than she needed to be. “What's-- what's that?”

“Uh, never you mind that. I, uh. I don't really know what to say, honestly. You been through a lot. An' you thought you had that with this Turnip guy, right? That you had a companion you could at least relate to, yea?” Chikori nodded slowly, unaware of where Fallafal was going with this. “Well. That's... That's tough. I ain't got anythin' else to say for it. But what can you do 'bout it? He's long bin dead, right?” Well, probably, he thought to himself. That whole Time Patrol kinda made it confusing for him. “So's he ain't gonna bother you anymore, right? You can't talk to him anymore. Yer just holdin' onto all of this anger, or you been doin' that, and I'm hopin' this helped ya figure some of that out or made it better, but I ain't got any tricks goin' forward to help you with it. I jus' know that talkin' about it makes it lighter. It doesn't make it go away, like my sister's always said, but it makes it easier and lighter sum'times, when that weight gits too heavy to carry.”

He looked over at Chikori, cautiously. She hadn't said anything while he spoke, and instead had been looking at him with intense interest. But the emotional state that she had worked herself up into seemed to be receding. Her breathing seemed calmer, and the tears that had fallen had become a trickle.

“A-are... are you good?” he asked cautiously. “'Cuz I mean, I don' mind carryin' that weight withya a bit longer.”

Chikori looked at him, slowly coming back to the calm state of mind that she had honed during her time in the two military forces that had plagued the universe. He didn't say anything to her, just watching her face for the tiniest chance that she might go one way or the other, and she didn't answer him immediately either. They both had kept quiet, until finally, she had found her calm.

“I think... I am fine, now,” she said slowly, as though her mouth was slowly getting the hang of words again.

“Whew, good. 'Cuz I didn' know what to do if you weren't.”

That had earned him a soft chuckle from the Saiyan.

“Wait-- Wait a min', did you-- did you jus' laugh?”

“I did no such thing.” There was the smallest hints of a smile at the corner of the Saiyan's lips. Fallafal leaned in a bit, squinting as the Saiyan looked back at him, concerned. He kept leaning over until he forgot that he was on a branch and nearly fell off, barely hanging by one hand. Without saying anything, Chikori got up and pulled him up so he could sit onto his branch again.

“Are you okay?”

“Who, me? Pfff. Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Happens all the time.” He waved off her concern. “But you? Are you fine, for sure?”

“For the second time, yes, Fallafal. I am fine.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “Whew, okay. Good. I'm glad. I... I got worried, there, for a sec'. 'Cuz you an' me... well, I don't know you too well, an--”

“Stop.” The Saiyan looked away. Her face was starting to warm from shame. “I don't like showing such weakness--”

“Hey. It's not weakness. I mean, I don't know if it's the same for you as it is for me, but I think it's okay to be a little human an' have some emotions every now an' then. I don't think anyone's going to come here and hurt you.”

The Saiyan didn't say anything in response to that. Then... “Did you want me to continue?”

“There's more?!”

“Well.... Not too much more.”

“I'm supposin' so, if you wanna.”

“I stopped talking to him after that. I was mad, irate for days. I apparently did better during training sessions at the time. But he never said anything. He never talked to me unless we had to, unless I approached him. When we finished our basic training, and had been assigned to different squadrons, I never saw him again. I don't know what happened to him. Sometimes... I hope he reflected on the past, and held immense regret. Especially for someone who had favoured me so much, at one point. At other times, before I arrived here, I wanted to find him and defeat him with my own two fists. But that wouldn't have served any purpose except to make him stronger.” At this, she stopped, taking note of Fallafal's sudden confused stare. She mirrored it with one of her own. “Were you not aware? Saiyans get stronger whenever they're pushed to death. It's what turned the tide during the long war. We had eventually become stronger than their numbers and technology. This is most likely the reason why Frieza had wanted us added to his armies so much. ...We were the perfect weapon for an evil bastard like him.”

“Ah. I see... So you never saw Turnip again?”

“No. Though, as I said, there are times where I wish I did. No doubt he would have used it for his own gain, though I suppose someone like you might call it his loss.”

“Well, you're right. It is his loss.”

“I will never understand that.”

“You don't hafta just yet. Maybe we'll get to that another time.”

[citrinekay]

I was thinking of a prompt where Holden doesn't eat when he's stressed out or exhausted; it's just the furthest thing from his mind. Bill notices one day and cooks him a well-balanced meal and makes him eat every bite. Holden is speechless because no one has ever been so thoughtful and kind toward him before.

This is so sweet 😭 I also relate to Holden in this aspect a lot because I tend to get very focused on what I’m doing (usually writing lol) and forget to eat for hours at a time. I love the concept of Bill thinking about this, and wanting to take care of him in the most basic, essential way possible. Thanks for the prompt!💕

By five-thirty, the BSU basement is deserted, and nearly everyone has gone home for the day. The single light at Holden’s desk casts muted, white light across the stacks of case files, and the crime scene photos arranged in a neat row at the top of his desk. He has two notebooks - one for victim observations, another for the preliminary profile - and both are filled with three pages of scribbled notes so far. 

They’d arrived back from a two-week long consult in Texas early this morning, and he’d been greeted with a stack of new requests that had accumulated during their absence. Keen on tackling the mountain before it grows any larger, he’d buried his head in profiles for the better part of the day, stopping once to eat some chips from the vending machine when the growling in his stomach became too incessant. Several hours later, the thought of eating has tapered off to a dull hum in the back of his mind. 

Holden is so engaged in the profile that he doesn’t hear Bill approach until a hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his pensive reverie. 

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Bill says as Holden leans back in his chair, clutching at his chest. 

“It’s okay.”

“You almost ready to leave?” Bill asks, shooting a pointed glance at his watch. “It’s getting pretty late.”

“I’m almost done with this.”

“Are they expecting it back tonight?”

“No.”

“Then it can wait ‘til tomorrow.” Bill says, giving Holden’s shoulder a nudge. “Come on.”

“I’m this close.” Holden says, pinching less than a half inch of space between his thumb and forefinger.

“You haven’t moved from this desk all day.” Bill says, gently taking Holden’s pen out of his hand and setting it aside. “Have you eaten?”

Holden starts to nod, and Bill casts him a stern frown. 

“Other than vending machine snacks?”

Holden purses his lips, gathering an irked glare. “No, but it’s fine. I’m not that hungry.”

Bill shakes his head, and silently begins putting all of the crime scene photos back in the folders. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Holden asks.

“Making you give yourself a break.” Bill says, snatching the two notebooks from in front of Holden and flipping them shut. 

“I wasn’t done with that.”

“Holden.” Bill says, firmly, “This is not up for debate.”

Holden narrows his eyes. “Are you seriously pulling rank on me?”

“I’m saying this as someone who cares about you, not your superior, but if you want to see it that way, sure.” 

Holden tries to hold onto his scowl as Bill tosses aside the folders, and pulls him up from his chair by his hands. 

“We just had a very long two weeks.” Bill says, his voice softening as their eyes meet. “You need to give yourself a minute to breathe every once in a while.” 

“Bill…” Holden says slowly, a coy smile creeping at the corner of his mouth. “Is this because we didn’t have time to have sex the whole time we were away?”

Bill sighs, his brow curling with an indignant frown. “No.”

“I’m horny, too, but we have a job to do.”

“Yeah, one you can’t do when you haven’t eaten all day. Now come on. I’m taking you home.”

Holden doesn’t protest again as Bill leads him out of the basement. As they walk across the parking lot to the car, the faint tremble in his knees and the ache in his stomach emerges from the hazy focus on work that he’d been clinging onto. He doesn’t want to admit that Bill is right, so he keeps his mouth shut as they speed down the highway towards home with his stomach growling the entire way. 

Once they get home, Holden strips out of his work clothes and tosses them in the hamper while Bill goes into the kitchen. In his pajamas, he shuffles down the hallway to where Bill is rifling through the refrigerator and pulling out ingredients. 

“We could just order out.” Holden says. 

“What? Pizza?” Bill says, glancing past the refrigerator door with a disapproving glance. “I don’t think so. You need real food.”

“It is real food. It’s just not very healthy.”

“Exactly.” 

Holden wanders further into the kitchen, scanning the items Bill has placed on the counter. 

“What are you making?”

“You’ll see.”

“Can I help you?”

“No.” Bill says, “Go get a shower and lay down. I’ll get you when it’s ready.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Bill pushes the refrigerator door shut, and leans over to plant a kiss on Holden’s protesting lips. “Let me do this. Okay?”

Holden holds up a defeated hand. “Okay. Fine.”

He retreats from the kitchen, and goes to the bathroom to get a shower like Bill had suggested. As he stands under the hot spray of the water and feels the tension begin to unwind from his shoulders, a wave of exhaustion washes over him. Every time they go on consult, they spend so much time on the ground that they don’t get very much sleep. He’s almost used to it by now, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling the impact - like some kind of bad hangover - whenever they get back into their own timezone. 

By the time he finishes showering, a small whiff of the aromas wafting from the kitchen makes his mouth water and his empty stomach spasm with hunger. Tired and weak, he lays down on the couch, and lets his eyes slip shut. 

It feels like the space of a second, but when Bill nudges him awake, Holden realizes that a half hour has passed. 

“Come on.” Bill urges, dragging his docile limbs up from the couch, “Dinner’s ready.”

Holden leans into his arms, and rubs his hands over his face to dispel the haze of sleep. Stifling a yawn, he climbs up from the couch, and follows Bill into the kitchen. 

“Wow, this looks amazing.” He murmurs, as Bill sits him down at the table in front of his plate filled with bread chicken, Spanish rice, and roasted broccoli. 

Bill sits down next to him, and puts his arm across the back of Holden’s chair. “You wanna try to tell me again how you aren’t hungry?”

Holden casts him a limp smile as he picks up his fork and knife. The first bite of the chicken is juicy and savory, just enough salt against rosemary and thyme. A satisfied groan rises in the back of his throat as he chews and the flavor washes across his tongue and down into his empty stomach. 

“Good?” Bill asks, bemused. 

“So good.” Holden says, “When did you get to be such a good cook?”

“My mom taught me a few staples.” 

“Mmm.” Holden mumbles as he tucks a bite of rice and broccoli in his mouth. “I’m impressed.”

“But are you hungry?”

Holden shoots him a begrudging glance. “Yes. Starving, if you have to know.”

Bill chuckles softly, and rubs a hand over his back. “That’s what I thought.”

Holden continues eating, wrapped up in the satisfying sensation of the savory meal hitting his stomach. He’s halfway through his plate before he realizes that Bill isn’t eating, only sitting at Holden’s side watching every bite go into his mouth. 

“Aren’t you having some?” Holden asks, pausing to take a sip of water. 

“In a minute.”

Holden blushes as Bill’s gaze clings to him, observing his unreserved chewing with a crooked smirk and a pleased glint in his eyes. 

“Is this some new kink?” Holden murmurs, lowering his eyelashes. “Watching me eat?”

“No, I just want to see you taken care of. I have to do it since you won’t do it for yourself.”

Holden cheeks grow hotter, and he quickly tucks another piece of chicken in his mouth to rush past the sudden flash of vulnerability he feels under Bill’s scrutiny. They’ve exchanged raunchier words in the bedroom without him feeling this exposed; but no one has ever done something like this for him before - not just cooked him dinner, but made sure he ate every bite, and stuck to the task like it was some honor-bound duty. 

“What’s the matter?” Bill asks softly as Holden lowers his head and rubs a quick hand over his eyes. 

“Nothing.” Holden whispers, leaning over to hide his face in Bill’s shoulder. “Nothing. I just …. thank you. This tastes really good.”

“You’re welcome.” Bill says, curling his arm around Holden’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

Cradling Holden’s cheek in his other hand, he tilts his chin up into a soft kiss. His thumb strokes along Holden’s cheek and against the corner of his eye, smearing the faint remnants of moisture. 

“I had no idea my cooking was that good.” He murmurs.

“It is.” Holden says, nudging another kiss against the corner of Bill’s mouth. “I think I want to marry you, and let you cook for me every night.”

Bill’s soft chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest. “Is that right?”

“Yes. And maybe breakfast too.”

“If you’re lucky.” 

Holden smiles into another slow kiss before Bill pulls back, and waves a finger at his plate. 

“Okay, keep going.” He urges. “I want to see you eat every bite.”

“Yes, sir.” Holden murmurs, sitting up straighter to take up his fork and knife again. 

Bill’s hand absently rubs Holden’s shoulder as he finishes the rest of his food, and washes it down with a gulp of water. 

“Ah, I’m stuffed now.” Holden says, leaning back and stretching his belly. 

“Time for bed, I think.”  Bill says, smiling fondly as Holden stifles a yawn. He rises from his chair, and urges Holden to his feet. “Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”

As soon as Holden crawls into bed, his exhaustion immediately overcomes him. He collapses into the familiar warmth of the sheets with a contented sigh.

 Bill drags the covers over him, and sits down on the edge of the bed to nestle them under his chin. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Holden murmurs, sleepily. 

“In a bit.” Bill says, bending down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it, okay?”

Holden nods, too tired to argue or agree. He’s already falling asleep by the time Bill turns off the bedside lamp, and drops one last kiss on his temple before sneaking toward the door. 

“Bill?” Holden whispers into the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Go to sleep.”

The door eases shut, and Holden sinks down against the pillow with a happy hum. He never sleeps well when they’re out of town on consult. His mind is always racing with details of the case and plans of action, and he thinks he’ll never get a good night’s sleep again. It isn’t until he’s home that his body and brain realize again that he’s safe and cared for, that he can drift off to dreams without worrying about someone else dying. This time, it took less than a day for that relief to flood his veins, and he knows it didn’t have anything to do with the dent he’d valiantly tried to put in his overflowing paperwork today. With dinner warming his belly, Holden quickly falls asleep feeling happier than he’s ever been.